Arya SvitKona
by mindfluff
Summary: This is... well, basically Arya Svit-kona's complete story told by me. ;D Heehee, enjoy, maybe?
1. Starting Point

**A/N: **This is actually a NaNoWriMo, so if this chapter is kind of boring because I type a lot… it's because you basically have to write 2,000 words a day. That's right… 2000 **words**, not just 2000 characters.

Anyway, this story is just like… Arya's life. This begins from her birth, and is going to lead up to… well, I don't know yet. xD

Now, I know that this is probably really boring to all of you since there really isn't much action going on, but if I could receive one or two reviews… well, it would hearten me a lot more. ^^; I'm still going to continue this story no matter what, however, as it's a NaNoWriMo, so… uhhh… yeah. ^^;

The light of the paling moon silhouetted the forms of the forest, creeping up behind and illuminating the trees with a silvery glow. The moon's light was beginning to disappear, however, soon to be replaced by the light of day. A peaceful breeze fluttered briefly through the expanse of the area, suggesting that dawn was approaching at a rapid pace. As if to confirm this, the midnight blue of the sky began to lighten with the first golden waves belonging to the tiara of rays that crowned the sun.

Small creatures began stirring in their habitats. Some remained still and stared wide-eyed at their surroundings, while others immediately jumped in to action. Those having the latter characteristic could be heard scuttling around, doing whatever they needed to do. Even amongst all the rustling and tiny noises made, a sense of peacefulness and tranquility had itself draped tightly throughout the forest.

A few notes of bird song rose timidly from a nest, no doubt hidden deeply within one of the trees hidden in the span of the shady glade. It was a sweet sound, this bird song; a pulsing sound that wove itself in to little intricate melodies that captivated most. This song was soon joined in a duet with the burbling, splashing music that erupted happily from a small creek making its way playfully through the ground. Someone who entered would most likely be enthralled at the place—there was really no other way to put it. From the abundant amount of foliage to the notes of music that seemed to be living in every single creature, one would think that the place was enchanted—and, from a certain perspective, it was.

This place, much different from the desert that bordered it, was well known, and was much sought out by many. This place, north of the Hadarac Desert, was nothing but a fairytale to many. This place, surrounding Ellesméra, the capital belonging to the elves, was nothing but reality to many.

The forests of Du Weldenvarden.

The name itself bore a majestic tone to it, and rightfully so. It contained two words—two words that had the duty of representing all the greenery that the elves had taken and had gradually, over time, expanded.

It was in this exact forest where elves lived harmoniously—for the most part, anyway. It was in this exact forest where elves worked together to create more and more wonders for the rest of the world to marvel over. It was in this exact forest where, today, the queen was laboring with her own toils, although these weren't toils like working out in the fields (elves didn't exactly have to do things like that anyway).

The queen was struggling with procuring the next heir to the throne. Elf children were rare enough as it was, and the queen was lucky to have already accomplished the first step to bearing a child. Although she was still in a mourning state for her lost husband, she knew that she had to remain strong for the sake of appearance, at the very least, as well as for the sake of her unborn child.

Being in her state, even the simple task of breathing in and out was tough labor. Beads of sweat continued to collect on to her brow as she lay in bed, propped up by a few pillows. When a servant lightly brushed a moist rag against her face, the queen uttered a slight sigh of relief.

At last, it was time.

In less than an hour, the queen cradled a baby in her arms. This position was unfamiliar to her, and it was rather awkward. _How do humans do this like it is such a natural pose?_ Although she would never admit it, she was beginning to wonder if having this child was a mistake. When she happened to glance upon the faces of her subjects, however, the rapture and delight that crossed their faces was something that she knew was worth it.

The few seconds after the deliverance of the child had been received in a silence, but once the newborn baby had reached the queen's arms, shouts erupted from everywhere, ringing in her ears with their deafening sound. It seemed as if every single elf residing in Du Weldenvarden were cheering her name: "Islanzadí Dröttning! Islanzadí Dröttning!"

A smile alighted on to her face. At first it was pasted on and fake, but as it slowly began to relax in to her face, it turned in to a smile that was truly genuine. "Thank you," she murmured softly, knowing that none of the elves could hear her, but giving them her thanks in a quiet voice all the same.

After the cries had somewhat subsided enough to distinguish other words from the roar, the queen was faced with the question of what to name her child. Her eyes flickered briefly from subject to subject as her mind touched on what name to bless the new addition to the elfin race with.

Turning her eyes down on to the baby, Islanzadí noticed that the baby was currently awake and was staring up at her intently, bright green eyes—the same shade that had belonged to King Evandar. Tears sprang to the queen's eyes unbidden, and she breathed in deeply in order to prevent them from spilling out. After all, since the Ancient Language forbade any users of it to lie, she could not give the excuse that she was crying out of joy.

In truth, Islanzadí was afraid. Afraid as to whom her daughter was going to grow up to be, afraid for the elfin race, and afraid for her own well being.

"Arya," Islanzadí pronounced. When no one appeared to be listening, she repeated the name once again, louder. Once the name reached the rest of the elves, the word quickly spread, and cheers were once more blown in to existence, running at a thunderous and boisterous tempo: "Arya Dröttningu! Arya Dröttningu!"

Islanzadí smiled tiredly, making her wishes to be left alone to a servant who then recruited more servants to do the job of hustling everyone out of the queen's quarters. It took a while, but in the end, the queen was left alone with the newborn baby. Looking down once more at the now-named Arya, many thoughts and emotions crossed Islanzadí's mind. When things like this happened, Islanzadí found it in her place to take her emotions and to wrestle with them one by one.

First of all, she hated to admit it, but she was utterly confused. The baby's emerald eyes bore in to the queen's gaze, making an unpleasant tingle run down her spine. It was obvious that this was no ordinary baby, meaning that this would be neither ordinary child nor woman when the years passed. Islanzadí had never particularly possessed any motherly instincts, meaning that even now, she was unsure how to care for the baby, although she vowed to try her best.

Confusion was closely backed with a sense of fear. What would happen now? Would Islanzadí simply just rule and raise her child? Worry flared in to existence, as well—due to the fact that there were barely any children among the ranks of the elves, that immediately meant that Arya wouldn't have much company her own age while she was growing up. Wincing at this prospect, Islanzadí leaned her head back, grateful for the downy pillows backing her up.

"Evandar…" Islanzadí hadn't meant to use her late mate's name, but it had just slipped out. At the sound of her father's name, Arya gave a gentle start and squirmed slightly in her mother's arms. A surprised look jumped on to the queen's face when she saw somewhat of a… _knowing_ look inhabiting the baby's expression—was that possible, or was she just imagining things? After all, childbirth _did_ sap up strength quite easily, meaning that her consciousness might be a little… off.

Closing her eyes, the queen pictured her former mate's face, a sense of longing picking up along with her other emotions. She wasn't exactly sure what she should be feeling—she knew that she should be absolutely delighted as the other elves were that she had brought another elf child—the _heiress_ to the throne at that—in to the world, but somehow, Islanzadí worried if it was right. After all, her mate had died not too long ago, and she was still supposed to be in mourning—the queen herself was still even garbed in black, as the color of sadness.

As no one was here to see her in this moment of weakness, the queen saw it fit that this was the correct time to break down if she truly needed to. Yet another sigh was emitted from her lips, and following quickly behind were a torrent of tears. Their flow started slowly at first, just trickling down and dripping down her cheeks. Their numbers increased, however, and the queen had to sacrifice one of her hands holding Arya in order to wipe away the tears.

This was most likely the first time she had ever cried this hard. She hadn't even shed a tear when she learned of news that Evandar had died—no, she hadn't. Instead, coldness had settled across her features and her personality, hardening her heart and the rest of her demeanor. The rest of the elves wept openly, with the exception of her. It was an odd sight to see thousands of crying elves while the closest one to the victim didn't even say anything. At Evandar's funeral, tears were shared freely among all the elves—with the exception of Islanzadí, whose lips had been pressed in to a firm line, although her eyes betrayed just a hidden glimpse of the depths in her sadness.

The queen held her regal stance, even while she was lying in bed carrying her newborn child. It felt wrong to do otherwise—to recline completely was something to do only when she was in a deep sleep. While still somewhat tense, her senses picked up little sounds that she had never really paid attention to before. There were the obvious sounds, of course: the light rustling of the leaves on the trees when wind brushed through them, the sounds of the forest itself that seemed music affiliated—but then there were also quieter, more shielded sounds, which included the smallest vibrations such as the passive moving of a rock due to the stream of water that passed over it continuously. These little sounds soothed the queen a little, although nothing short of complete and deep sleep would probably ever make her unwind completely, although that was often the case for many.

The queen opened her eyes once more, staring at the painted ceiling above. In a matter of moments, however, her eyelids drooped and gave her eyes a half-lidded expression, a look that suggested at someone who was eventually going to drop in to a deep slumber that would last for a matter of hours. To Islanzadí, sleep was a gentle relief that would bring her away from her busy and hectic life, and in truth, she was extremely grateful to be able to have a little restful time in which she wasn't busy making decisions for one thing or another. It seemed to her that whenever she made some type of decision, there was always at least one person who wasn't happy—she just couldn't satisfy everyone, and that oftentimes made her somewhat discouraged.

Worries creased lines in to Islanzadí's face, lines that would most likely remain with her for the rest of her life. As for now, however, the queen leaned back even further in to her bed, and, in a matter of moments, fell asleep, with Arya still in her arms. Dreams were always a possibility for when she fell asleep, but Islanzadí hadn't recalled a figment of a dream in over many moons, nor had she ever really relied on them for any message before, and now was no exception.


	2. Tranquility

**A/N; **Peace, everybody. ;D Are you ready for the second chapter? Heehee. C:

I must thank all my lovely reviewers—they make me feel special and wanted, as well as warm and fuzzy inside. Like a peach! 8)

Uhhhh.

Hold on…

o.o

NEVERMIND THEN—JUST READ.

8D

The days passed by at a languid pace, much too slowly for Islanzadí's taste. Day in, day out, she did the same thing over and over again. In truth, her life had always been a repetition like this, but she hadn't ever realized it until now.

Although she had just given birth to a child, the queen still had duties that bore down on her. Even though her subjects tried to give her a break by attempting to solve their little problems on their own, there were still pressing matters that had to be brought to her attention no matter what.

Day in, day out.

It wore the queen's patience out, although she never complained once. She simply bit her lip, handed Arya over to a trusted nursemaid, and dove right in to a different assortment of issues that seemed to trip over one another presenting themselves to her.

Day one, day two.

Physically, Islanzadí was tired, yes, but she was recovering quickly. Mentally, however… well, she faced certain difficulties, as troubles plagued her morning and night. These troubles ranged in many forms, but they mostly centered around one elf: Arya. Islanzadí was never quite sure what to do with her daughter. Instead, she just allowed Arya to be taken care of by her servants and whatnot. It was a harsh way to grow up, yes, but Islanzadí could see no alternative, as Arya would most likely receive better care—in terms of affection, at the very least—in their hands. It pained the queen to admit it, but it was true.

Occasionally, Arya would receive visits from her mother. They were never very tender, and could even be described as rather uncomfortable for both of them. The elves noticed the bond between mother and child breaking quickly, but none dared to voice their opinions aloud, for fear of facing Islanzadí's wrath.

Day three, day eight.

Time ticked by, one second at a time. One minute at time. One hour, two hours, three, and then four…

One year, two years, nine years…

The once relatively frequent visits soon died down to simply a few words of conversation for a few moments during rare occurrences, although Arya herself didn't feel any worse for it. Another elf child, two years older than her, served as her playmate—and he served her well, at that.

While her mother was tending to business, Arya was often out and about with this playmate. He was two years older than her, making him eleven.

The two were inseparable, which was understandable, as there weren't any other elf children close to their age. Together, they joined forces, unleashing their 'power' through fantasies and wonders conjured up brilliantly by the imagination. Faolin, from the beginning, proved himself to be a master storyteller, and he and Arya would oftentimes sit beneath a splash of shade, with the sound of him weaving his stories lulling them both in to a serene state.

At the moment, the two were laying in a meadow colored eagerly with the assortment of flowers that sprang up from the depths of the moist soil. The sun shone down from overhead, illuminating the area with its golden light. A breeze swept by lazily, faintly blowing a few petals off fragrant blooms that encased the open clearing.

"Faolin?" a soft voice ventured, coming from Arya.

"Mmm?" was the casual response coming from the male elf, evidently named Faolin.

"Do you know anything about humans?"

"Of course I do. Don't you?"

"Yes," Arya quickly lied, not wanting to make it seem as if she were ignorant of such matters. After all, if she inherited the throne, she _had_ to know these things in order to act as a good sovereign.

"Then you'll know that with humans, the females are considered weak and incapable of doing labor and that the they are basically given the simple tasks of cooking and cleaning and caring for the children… Oh, what a bore…" Faolin trailed off here, his voice hinting at a teasing tone as he turned his head to look at Arya. A look of amusement crossed his expression when he saw her give a start when she heard his fact about humans.

"They—what? Why?" Arya demanded, then faltered for a moment. If she knew about humans, she wouldn't be stuttering right now. "I mean… of course," she remarked, attempting to cover up her earlier outburst. Then, deciding to continue on and to change the subject before she made a fool of herself anymore, she observed, "But they're _humans_. We're _elves_, meaning that basically I can do anything that you can do."

"We'll see about that," Faolin said, a grin spreading its way across his face as he sat up. Getting to his feet, he paused momentarily to lean down and offer a hand to Arya. The few words he had just said, however, had sparked something within her, making her determined to do things without his help. She simply ignored his hand and got up, laughter dancing in her eyes.

Suddenly, Faolin darted forward, running quickly. "Catch me if you can!" he called over his shoulder in a teasing tone. Arya, already sensing the point of what she was supposed to do, sped after him.

The two ran across the meadow and then changed their course in to the forest. The trees there were tall, taking the sunlight that managed to penetrate the leaves and using it to throw shadows everywhere. If she hadn't been with Faolin, Arya admitted to herself that she _might_ have been a little scared.

They ran for a while, covering a large part of Du Weldenvarden. Everywhere they went, they could be heard, from their footsteps treading lightly on the ground, to the laughter that erupted from both of them. Even Arya had to smile at the way her bell-like laughter tinkled and somehow harmonized with Faolin's booming laugh that seemed to somehow possess some level of delicacy to it.

Eventually, Arya caught up with Faolin, and sliding a hand in to his, they ran side by side—not as lovers, as both of them thought the idea absolutely repulsive, but as friends. Elves milling about the forest instantaneously had a smile brightening their faces when they saw their princess with her playmate running by. They called out various greetings and titles after the two, beckoning for them to stop and enjoy some refreshment, but the two declined politely—or as politely as you could while running at a breakneck pace.

Faolin and Arya continued to run for a while, until they were both panting with exhaustion. Both of their faces were flushed, and Faolin flopped down on to the ground, while Arya preferred a more dignified way of lying down. Once they had both made themselves comfortable on the grassy area, they looked up at the sky through the large nest of branches that seemed to spread to everywhere. While still holding hands in a friendly manner, the two fell asleep.

That was how Islanzadí saw her daughter and her daughter's playmate when she by accident stumbled upon the two when going for a walk to clear her head. Surprise was obvious in her face, but then turned to a kinder look. The scene was one that nearly melted her heart.

Arya's raven black hair was draped on the ground, some of it resting on Faolin's broad and relatively well-muscled shoulder. Her head was inclined towards his shoulder as well, almost leaning on it. Faolin's large frame curved slightly toward Arya's more petite one, making Islanzadí's smile widen even more.

As if knowing that someone was watching, Arya stirred, making Faolin also awaken. Faolin was first to acknowledge the queen's presence; he quickly let go of Arya's hand and leapt up, addressing Arya's mother formally while Arya simply watched. In truth, she knew that she should also have said something formal to her mother, but her mother didn't particularly react to it, so the princess reckoned that it was all right.

After returning Faolin's hastily made salutations, the queen surveyed the two together in the peaceful surroundings. "You two would make a good pair on the throne, I believe," she stated in a light tone before walking off in to the forest. As Islanzadí walked off, she pondered over the truthfulness in her words. In the deepest meaning, it was true. Arya and Faolin balanced each other out—Arya with her quietness and seriousness was equally matched with Faolin's good-natured, knee-slapping humor. Both were considerably attractive, even at their young state—Faolin and his blond hair bordering a rather unusual silver tinge with his large gray eyes and light skin seemed to go along as a compliment with Arya's dark hair, green eyes, and fair complexion. These reasons brought a rather mysterious looking smile to Islanzadí's face as she continued her walk.

Arya and Faolin, however, didn't quite get this. The two exchanged a glance, watching until the queen disappeared in to the thickness of the trees before daring to say a word.

"What do you think she meant by that?" Faolin mused, turning his gaze back to Arya.

In return, he simply got a shrug, as Arya was just as confused as he was. Even though Islanzadí was her mother, that didn't exactly mean that Arya understood her any better than Faolin—or any other elf, for that matter—did.

"Well, I guess that will eventually come back to bite us later as most things will, but I suppose we can just forget about it for now," Faolin declared with a nod, sitting down on a tree stump. In a matter of moments, the thought was gone from his mind, and he let the silence envelop him. He knew that he would eventually have to have a conversation started, as he didn't exactly like being quiet when there was someone else who he could converse with. At the present moment, however, thoughts of swords clashing and horses rearing during battle swirled in his mind—a fantasy that he often nurtured in his mind, for Faolin was of the daring and bold kind. A daydreaming look engulfed Faolin's face, which wasn't unusual, as he was always dreaming about gallivanting about on his pure white horse, saving lives and accomplishing good deeds…

Arya, however, stored what her mother had said in her mind, for some type of curiosity within her had been unlocked, longing to be satisfied with an explanation. It was a strangely new prospect, this. Tilting her head, she picked a few blades of grass and began weaving them in to an intricate pattern. It was a task that completely captivated her mind and her concentration, but something within her began to drift away from the task at hand and began to wonder once again at her mother's words.

_A pair_… Arya winced slightly as she realized that her mother had just addressed the two of them as a pair—which meant to objects together. _A pair_. Just like a pair of shoes. This reference seemed rather comical to Arya, and she bit her lip in order to prevent a giggle from sounding, as when she looked at Faolin, she could see that he was thinking deeply about something. She longed to ask him what, but from past experience, she knew that it was no good to try to awaken the male elf from his reflections.

Willingly or not, a soft tune issued from Arya's throat. It was a pleasant melody, with little quirks and jumps that made it seem rather… playful. The mirth she gained from this was rather surprising. Suddenly, a peal of laughter rang out in the air, and it took a while for her to realize that it had come from her.

Faolin had been jolted from his thoughts, and his face entered a hardened state as he heard laughter—unmistakably coming from Arya. Was she laughing at him? His eyes briefly skirted over her, and when he realized that she wasn't ridiculing him, he relaxed.

A little melody reached his ears, and almost out of instinct, he answered with a harmony to it. As the sun began setting and spreading pastel colors across the sky, Faolin and Arya proceeded to celebrate the coming of the night with a continuation of their duet.


	3. From Now On

**A/N;** I'd like to start this Author's Note by giving a quick shout out to all my readers and reviewers and to that little dinosaur in the corner… haha, pshhhh…

ANYWAY, here's…

Drum roll please?

-coughsplatdie-

…?

Drum roll, maybe?

-splatdiecough-

Druuuummmm….

Neverminddddd. ;P

Just enjoy! ^^

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More years passed, adding more time to the experience that the two elves had on the earth. They lived in a measure of simplicity, and neither of them had any complaints to it. Both Arya and Faolin had already tapped in to the inner mind, gaining the ability to control flows of magic. Arya, more focused at the task than Faolin, excelled at a rapid pace, although Faolin himself managed to maintain a decent grasp.

While sheltered in the metaphorical bubble from the rest of the world that Du Weldenvarden was, Arya found herself longing to see the area outside of the forest belonging to the elves. She voiced these opinions to Faolin, and a sense of delight fluttered in her heart when he found that he agreed with her.

There had been one time, when she was younger than her now present fifteen years, when Arya had heard murmurings and whispers about something that concerned the Dragon Riders—Shur'tugal. Back then, Arya had paid no attention to any of it. Now as she was becoming more strong headed, she recalled these thoughts and attempted to pursue them even further.

"Faolin, do you know anything about the Shur'tugal?" she questioned the male elf one day, peering at him intently from a face framed with her dark locks of hair. Curiosity burned within her mind, and she made her desire for her questions to be answered quite clear—Faolin saw it quite easily as he turned to fix his gaze on the female elf.

"I've been told bits and pieces of the story," he said slowly, "and I've managed to piece some of it together…" He sat down gracefully on the ground, patting the area next to him as a gesture for Arya to join him before he continued. "From what I've been told, the Dragon Riders… well, they are—well, _were­_—humans and elves who bore a special connection with a certain dragon. So special was their connection, that the dragon would die if their Rider died." He paused here, making sure that Arya was understood all of this.

"The year you were born was a year full of turmoil, although both you and I don't remember much about it, you being just a newborn baby, and me just being a youngling of three years," Faolin continued. "But troubles were brewing, and the Riders were betrayed by Galbatorix, a former Rider who went mad from the loss of his dragon. He, indeed, tried to secure another dragon for himself by honorable means—but to no avail, as the Council of Elders who he consulted disagreed with his reasoning. Bitter and angry, Galbatorix set to planning the fall of those he hated.

"He took control of yet another Rider. Morzan." At this point, Faolin was all but seething with fury as he told this story. Even Arya had a hint of anger flashing through her eyes, though she remained quiet as he resumed telling the story. "Together, they brought the other Riders at their mercy. Those who refused to join his forces immediately found themselves a life of torture, then death. To those who _did_ join him, however… together, they all numbered thirteen—an unlucky number, you could say. Together, these thirteen grew in power, taking the name of The Forsworn for their title.

At this point, there were only just so many Riders left. The Forsworn, with their combined power, took the remaining Riders down, which, despite the large number of the Forsworn, was quite a feat, as the Riders were no weak fools. Still, the Forsworn prevailed, and…" Faolin paused here, trying to gather his thoughts in order to come up with a proper ending. His face was downcast, a rueful look spreading across it quickly.

"…And, the rest is history," Arya murmured softly, looking attentively at Faolin. She looked completely composed; the only thing that betrayed her emotion was the slight tremor that could be detected in her voice if one listened very closely.

"Aye, and," Faolin remarked, "the Forsworn still live on to this day."

A mixture of emotions made their presence known in Arya's mind as she wrestled with what to think. There were obviously the evident feelings of compassion for the fallen Riders, as well as sadness, but there was also a feeling of irritation and frustration that her mother had never told her any of this before. _All this time I could've been doing something; I could've been educated about the rest of Alagaesia… But no! I've been sitting here, lounging away in the sun like… like… well, like something lazy and no good!_

"Why didn't my mother tell me about any of this?" Arya asked. "Can she not trust me? Does she think that I am unfit to possess such knowledge? That I am too young?" Her eyes narrowed here as her voice rose in tone, then fell as she regained her composure once more.

Faolin didn't respond, as he didn't quite know what to say. Instead, he let nature take its course in soothing Arya. The two were currently seated at the edge of a small stream, dangling their toes in the gentle rush of lukewarm water. Trees, as always, were the bringers of shade and of fragrant scents.

The two sat in silence for a few moments longer; Faolin sitting in contemplation while Arya fumed to herself. When Arya had finally had enough of judging the situation, she exhaled deeply in the form of a sigh. Running her fingers through her hair in a bemused way that suggested at a habit, she encircled her arms around her knees, hugging them to her chest.

"Faolin?"

"Yes?"

"Can we go on another run?"

"Yes."

It took this very simple exchange for both of them to stand up and to begin speed up their pace in unison. Wordlessly, their hands met, and they held on lightly.

The day was another clear day, with the sunlight streaming in freely. The mood between them lightened considerably as Arya gradually forgot about the disappointment she felt at her mother for not telling her about the Fall of the Riders, although Faolin knew that the subject would most likely come back in to play again. For now, however the elf was content to run alongside Arya.

In the middle of a small clearing, Faolin abruptly stopped. Arya, however, kept on running. Before she had gone a few paces more, however, Faolin grinned and, using Arya's hand as a leverage point, picked her up and spun her around in the air twice before returning her back to the ground. All the while, Arya's bell-like peals of laughter rang generously, with no restraint whatsoever.

The female elf twirled around in the tall grass that made up the clearing, stopping every once in a while to touch a tree, or to bend down to try to capture the scent of a bloom. Faolin watched with a sense of amusement as the princess danced back to him, glad that she was out of her annoyed state.

"Faolin?" Arya asked, abruptly sobering down immediately from her happiness-drunken state.

Faolin, surprised at the unexpected change, simply blinked down at her.

"Faolin, do you ever think about love?"

This question, just like Arya's sudden mood swing, threw Faolin off balance. He stared at Arya, completely bewildered. The question was just so out of the blue… what was he supposed to answer? Was it a rhetorical question? Searching the depths of Arya's eyes, he saw that, no, there was no teasing voice to this inquiry at all… just a hunger for an answer.

"I—I don't really know," was his stammered out reply. "It just seems kind of… weird."

Arya took a step closer to him, and Faolin breathed the scent of crushed pine needles. It was a sweet, spicy smell that usually brought a smile to his face. In this case, however… he wasn't exactly sure what to think.

"But do you ever think about it?" Arya asked, ever persistent in her pursuit for him to answer. For a moment, Arya had begun to close the gap between them, and it looked for a fleeting minute that she had been about to kiss him, but she took a sudden large step away from him, separating them. _What am I saying?_ She asked herself, confused. Looking back at Faolin, she began to apologize. "I—I… My apologies, Faolin. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable as a result of my inquiries," she murmured, casting her eyes downward.

"Uncomfortable?" Faolin muttered darkly, averting his eyes from Arya as a sense of exasperation unfolded in his mind. "That was utter madness what you just uttered right now!" he snapped, startling both him and Arya at the harsh tone in his voice.

Arya tried to catch his eye, but failed. "I'm sorry, Faolin," she said, her voice barely audible, as it was at a tone just hardly above a whisper. "But there have been some… feelings I've felt for you lately that I'm unsure about…"

"Feelings?" Faolin asked with an arched eyebrow. "Feelings are classified in to joy and anger and fear, with certain levels and measures of each. That is the basic and most true definition, so let us simply leave it to that!"

"But—I—"

"No more!" Faolin's voice boomed, and, once more, he was stunned at how ruthless he was being. _Arya is your princess; therefore she has a higher ranking than you. Remember that!_ "Whatever _feelings_ you may be feeling, princess, I suggest you keep them to yourself and don't trouble anybody else with them!" With that, he stalked off, leaving Arya to stand in her misery and confusion.

As she watched Faolin's retreating figure, thoughts began to plague Arya. _Is he right? Did I let my emotions take too much control over me? Do I do that often? Is that why my mother doesn't come and visit me often?_

More and more of these thoughts piled up on one another. Tears pricked at her eyes, threatening to come out, but she kept them in. It was confusing—one moment, Faolin had been laughing with her, the next, when she mentioned her feelings, he rashly proclaimed that he wanted nothing to do with her emotions.

Arya was completely unsure on how she should further act. Should she go rush after Faolin and apologize profusely? Or should she leave him to think over his actions, expecting him to come back to her instead?

At this point, a certain resolution had reached its way in Arya's mind. From now on, she would learn from her lessons, even if they did not involve memorization or facts from a book. From now on, she would guard her heart well. From now on, she would not let anyone else know how she felt about him or her unless they had to know. From now on, she would change her demeanor.

From now on, Arya Svit-kona would no longer share her feelings with the world.


	4. Not the Only One

**A/N;** Eek, so I'm being a big procrastinator. So, haha. xD This chapter might be a little rushed, so mistakes are very possible… try to look them over, or, actually… scratch that. x3 Feel free to point them out, as critiquing is always valuable.

There have been a few of you saying that there are a few random flaws in my thing, such as Arya not being acquainted with Faolin until much later… Well, uh, haha. xP Thanks for picking that up for me, although I'm not sure I'm going to change it. ^^;

If anyone of you picked up that in the last chapter, the scene toward the end between Faolin and Arya was like in Peter Pan between Peter and Wendy… well, haha, that's actually where I got my inspiration. Just thought you'd like a little fun fact. 8D

Anyway, read on! ^^

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The moments from the point in which Arya resolved to never let her emotions get the better part of her passed at irregular intervals, sometimes speeding up in to a blur, sometimes going so slow that she longed to scream in order to end her prolonged suffering. Although she and Faolin still remained companions, as neither of them wished to explain to the other elves what had commenced between them should they have stopped being friends, it was quite obvious that they weren't as close as before. The other elves simply took it as a sign of growing up; in their minds, the two would be clinging to each other soon, at most, twenty years—give or take a decade.

As they both aged, their personalities differed in wide ranges, especially in Arya's case. While Faolin simply grew more mature and gained a better sense of common sense, Arya turned in to someone who rarely displayed a sign of emotion. Smiles were rare for her, as was the sound of her laugh. She demonstrated of great wit and intelligence many times, but this somewhat worried the elves to a certain extent—where had their smiling, laughing princess gone?

Faolin himself also noticed these changes, although he didn't pursue any inquiries about them, for fear of igniting Arya's _feelings_ once more. Every single time his thoughts strayed to that moment—which wasn't often, as he tried to forget it—he would wince and push it out of his mind.

He wasn't exactly quite sure why he had reacted so to Arya's words. Faolin wasn't exactly the type to go back and reexamine his actions and what he was thinking at the time, but now was the exception. Furrowing his brow, he rested his chin in the palm of his hand, with his arm propped up on his elbow against a burnished oak table seated in the midst of a relatively cozily built tree house. These weren't exactly his quarters; they were simply a place where Faolin knew he could find sanctuary when he needed to think over matters.

_I guess I don't really like to think deeply about things like this. _He tilted his head to the side, considering this thought for a few moments. Suddenly, he threw his head completely back, opened his mouth, and roared with laughter. When he finally quieted down, he shook his head sadly, stood up, and left the building, not exactly sure what had simply overcome him.

Feeling as if something inside of him had been released, Faolin proceeded in wandering about Du Weldenvarden, deciding to himself that he would spend the rest of the day in leisure, as there wasn't much else for him to do. He wasn't particularly sure where Arya had gotten herself off to—she was probably off thinking or daydreaming or doing whatever she did now.

"Faolin." The voice was voiced in a subtle tone, though it had a sense of firmness in it that didn't allow Faolin to ignore it. Turning around, he twisted his hand in the motion of a greeting as he faced Arya. This gesture, although meant as a sign of respect, brought a slight downcast look on to her face. Indeed, she was a princess, and receiving signs of respect like this were not uncommon—but they _were_ uncommon coming from Faolin. What stung her even more was how he addressed her.

"Princess," he murmured, "how do you fare on this lovely day?"

Though his words were pleasant, Arya sensed that there was some type of bitter formality in what he said. It was at this moment that Arya dropped all the thoughts of requesting something from Faolin—no, instead, she dropped to one knee, making everything up as she went along.

"Faolin," she began, keeping her eyes trained on the ground, as she didn't want to meet his gaze. "Faolin—I know that some things that I have said were unexpected, and that they made you feel queer…" Arya paused here, quickly running through a list of words and phrases in order to come up with something else to say. "I believe that I acted simply based on impulse, and I know that I was foolish."

Faolin stared intently at Arya's form, hesitant in what he should respond. Before he could, however, she interrupted.

"Oh, Faolin, do you not understand?" she asked, tearing her gaze from the ground and meeting his gray eyes with her forest green ones that seemed, to him, hungry for someone to understand their depths. "It has been hard for me to live with you on these terms of formal politeness. I cry your pardon, and long for us to be back to the way we were before."

The male elf raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner and raised his right hand. For a split second, Arya thought that he was going to hit her—but no, he did quite the opposite. Placing this hand on her shoulder, Faolin used the other hand to lift Arya's chin. His touch was cool on her skin, a comfortable temperature. "Arya Svit-kona," he began, his tone kind. "I believe that you are not the only one at fault here. I am of the contemplation that I have a fair share of blame here—my actions were also ones of impulse." Faolin faltered here, then continued on. "And now, Arya, I am of the belief that I, personally, am tired of talking in such formal terms. Join me on a ride?" A grin spread across his face as he reached out a hand in order to help her up.

A smile alighted Arya's face as she accepted his hand.

------

AHHHHH.

GOD.

THAT WAS A SHORT CHAPTER.

-fumes-

Haha, so much for my 2000 words per day quota.

x)

Not happening any time soon, eh?

Well, actually… I have Thursday off, so I'm going to procrastinate all the work that I don't finish today for then! So, you can probably expect like… a super duper long, pointless chapter from me on Thursday.

SO.

YEAH.

;D


	5. Trust

**A/N; **Ah yes, the ever present critique that my characters are very emotional and dramatic—haha, thank you for picking that up. xD Feel special. ;D

Arya is a very odd character to write. x] And the whole Faolin & Arya was the only thing I could come up with for her to turn all like… silent and stuff. ;P

Thank you to all my lovely reviewers. ^^ You really do brighten my day. :3 You don't know how warm and fuzzy it makes me feel inside when I see that I get emails from fanfiction saying that I received reviews & favorites on my stuff. :3

All right. So, as I try to get back on track with my NaNoWriMo…

I am going to type, type, and type some more. ;D

And hopefully, you'll like the result, eh? -winkwinknudgenudge-

8D

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The patterns embedded in to the bark of the tree were old and fair worn out, though they still conserved an endless amount of history in their twists and turns. Long, delicate fingers skirted this pattern continuously, as if trying to find something in the tree's past that would help her achieve something.

Her manner was that of someone who wasn't paying attention, and of someone who was daydreaming. It was obvious that her mind was somewhere else, although no one could exactly guess what she was thinking about. In many ways, she was unfathomable.

A smile played gently with her lips, causing her face to border between its normal, passive state, and a more cheerful expression.

Summer was an enjoyable time of the year. It was the time when a sense of laziness seemed to engulf the whole of Du Weldenvarden, though in a good way. It was the time during which the greatest of elf artwork was created, for the best works of art can often be created when one is relaxed and calm.

A breeze idly wound its way through the forest, followed underneath by the hint of a stream snaking its way through the lush woodland. Birds twittered happily, flying every which way while their richly colored feathers could be spotted against the greenness that dominated the woods.

It was clear that more time had ticked away, and eventually the gap between Arya and Faolin resealed itself until both of them resolved to forget about that day. Still, Arya kept the part of her that was more cautious and reserved, as well as thoughtful.

Tracing the lines on the tree bark once more as if trying to memorize the feel of it, she withdrew her hand and spun around when she picked up a faint treading sound of footsteps behind her.

"You're too good at hearing," Faolin muttered in a mock sense of frustration. He pulled up his face, and Arya could see that he had on a large smile that seemed to brighten everything in the surroundings up considerably—even her.

Arya's eyes briefly examined Faolin before she responded in turn with her own greeting. Sitting down on the ground, she looked up expectantly at Faolin until he too sat down.

The two sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Arya unconsciously reached out and brushed a few petals attached to a flower—a morning glory, to be exact. The relatively symmetrical shape was appealing to her, and she couldn't help but admiring the beauty that the flower seemed to hold—in each petal, and in each color. Faolin, noticing her interest in the type of flower, began muttering a quiet incantation under his breath, hoping that she wouldn't notice. His eyes shone from excitement, as a sudden inspiration had struck him, and he hoped he would manage to get it right.

A pale green glow shone in the palm of his hand, but he kept it behind his back in order to keep it from Arya's view. He was intending for this to be a surprise, and Faolin certainly didn't want anything to ruin it. It would take a while, and a good portion of his strength—but it was worth it. If questioned why it was worth so much to him that he completed this task… well, to tell the truth, he wasn't exactly quite sure. Even so, he could reason that it was a nice thing to do for a friend.

While Arya seemed to remain captivated with the assortment of different morning glories spread out throughout the grass, Faolin proceeded to work. He eyed the many colors that had already been sung, and his mind quickly processed the already used colors, determined to come up with his own color scheme.

After a while, Faolin glanced over his shoulder at the flower in the palm of his right hand. He felt rather drained of strength, but a sense of happiness overwhelmed him as his eyes caught sight of the flower that he held. His eyes shifted over to Arya, who had broke her contact with the flowers in order to look at him with a wondering look.

"You like those morning glories, do you not?" Faolin asked, his eyes twinkling merrily. Obviously confused, Arya simply gave a nod in response.

"Well then, princess—and please do not object to the title this time—I present you with my own creation of a morning glory, simply for you," he continued, bringing the bloom from behind his back.

Velvety petals that seemed to have been dipped in ink encased a golden stock of nectar. Maintained at the flower's throat was a splash of sapphire blue, so rich that it quickly caught the eye. A fragrance wafted from the blossom, causing a smile to tug at Arya's lips as she fought and wrestled with words in order to express her gratitude to Faolin for the flower.

Still, her thanks would not only be for the flower—she also wanted to thank him for everything that he was in her life. He was her best friend, and sole companion and confidant.

"I…" she began, then stopped, as she truly didn't know what to say. She was at loss for words; every time she tried to begin a sentence, she would never get passed one or two syllables. Finally, she managed to get a few words out. "It's beautiful," she murmured, casting her eyes down as she filled her eyes with nothing but the flower.

Faolin's smile widened as she voiced his approval of the flower in two, very simple words. Taking her hand, he transferred the blossom from his grasp in to hers. "It's yours," was all he said in response, matching her two words with his own short phrase.

"Thank you, Faolin," Arya said, finally managing to gain control of her words. Even so, an awed expression had locked on to her face as she beheld the bloom. "I will treasure this forever, and I can assure you that this act of kindness will never go unnoticed by me."

"It is my honor, Arya Svit-kona," Faolin answered with a deep nod.

"May I have the honor of bestowing an extra honor of you?" Arya asked in a teasing tone. Faolin looked up with a questioning look. "May I be so selfish as to wish for a few more of the same flower?"

Faolin met Arya's gaze evenly. "No, my lady. Never."

The two of them made more duplicates of the flower. Even though Faolin had exhausted part of his energy from creating a flower from scratch, he found it easier and easier as he continued on making simple copies of the flower. The first one, however, was the one that he would always recall the most, and it was the first one that he would always remember the most. When he voiced these opinions out to Arya, she simply nodded in agreement.

Recollecting the previous events from earlier today, Arya's thoughts gave a slight trill of happiness and delight as she once again glanced down at the flower she was holding.

Her current station was sitting in a tree, at a branch that was midway up the trunk. It wasn't dazzlingly high, but it was high enough that it offered her some sense of seclusion away from the rest of the elves. There was no exact purpose for her to need privacy, but there were times when she liked to escape for a few moments in order to sort out her thoughts or feelings about certain things.

Right now, however, all she felt was complete and utter joy. Her smile, which had been on her face for a while now, was radiant and was truthful to how she felt. Most of the elves she had interacted with had realized this, and with that, their own moods brightened—even those elves that were already in quite the optimistic mood.

Faolin was currently off running a few errands, and Arya was glad for the chance to be able to take a breather from the rest of the world for a few moments. She did get a few minutes of it, but was then interrupted by her mother.

Even though Arya disliked being disrupted in her times of contemplation, she knew better than to make a note of this to her mother—especially as Islanzadí was the queen.

"Mother," Arya addressed her as her mother made her presence clear in the branches of the trees.

"Daughter," was the return. It wasn't exactly the most formal greeting on both of their parts, but it sufficed, as there was no one listening, and neither of them expected much respect from one another.

When Islanzadí drew closer to Arya, her eyes flickered almost immediately to the flower that her daughter was holding. "Daughter," the queen began, "that is a most exquisite flower you hold. Pray tell, however, why did you pick it?" Her tone was not accusative, though—it was simply a tone of observation, as it was not quite custom for elves to pick flowers, since flowers had lives as well, although they just weren't quite as well developed in the sense of being able to think for themselves.

"I did not pick it," Arya said quickly in return. She considered dancing around the subject for a moment in hopes for her mother by accident changing the subject, but then thought it was better not to stray from the already clear path. "Faolin gave it to me," she added bluntly.

"Gave it to you?" Islanzadí asked, raising her eyebrows. "I have not seen a flower like that growing in our forests… then again, I am sometimes all too forgetful…" She trailed off here, looking at Arya with interest.

Did she not already know the answer? Exasperation filled Arya's mind, but she kept her voice level. "He created it for me, if that suits your inquiries more," she remarked, her tone almost bordering a sarcastic level, though she was careful.

"He did, did he…" Though the words were question based, there was no questioning tone to them as Islanzadí regarded Arya with a thoughtful eye. "Well, I must say that he has certainly mastered the art of creation well," she commented.

"Indeed," was the short, clipped response from Arya. She wanted to leap from the tree and to spirit herself somewhere away from here, because it felt as if right now, her mother were interrogating her, trying to pry something out of her—and Arya didn't like it, not one bit. Then again, it could be assumed that all her mother wanted to do was get closer to her… yet somehow, Arya did not quite think that was the case.

Eyeing her mother suspiciously, Arya grasped the branch of the tree she was seated on with her left hand (the hand that was obviously not holding the flower). "Why are you so interested, if I may ask?" the female elf asked her mother, a hint at a defensive edge in her voice.

"Oh, no reason," the queen answered airily, as if she had not a care in the world.

Arya did not quite trust the queen.

Trust… if Arya could not trust her own mother, the queen, then who _could_ she trust? Faolin was the most apparent choice, yes, but was there anyone else? At this point, it suddenly struck Arya head-on how lonely she was. She had Faolin as a companion—but there was no one else. Yes, the other elves treated her kindly and offered her certain measures of hospitality—but none of them were truly her friends beyond being just simple acquaintances. Swallowing nervously as she recalled that one time when she had let her emotions take the better part of her away, she realized how close she had been to losing the one true friend she had—the one true friend who she could trust.

Trust… Trust was an interesting concept, a concept that Arya wasn't quite sure she wanted to learn about. She didn't have much trust for anyone—especially herself, now that she recognized it.

Uttering a sigh, Arya murmured a quick farewell to her mother before departing from the tree.


	6. Not Again? Once More, Then

**A/N; **Haha… I'm running out of ideas for what happens in Arya's life before the book. XD So if any of you want to make any suggestions… I'm all up for them. ;D

By the wayyy… There is an OC in this chapter, as… well, it's kind of hard to do this without having an OC. x3;;

Ooookaaaayyy!

Another chapter, here we go! ^^

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"It is a skill that you must maintain, as you never know when you will need it. If you combine agility and speed along with the optional addition of grace, there will be few who can best you in it. Swordsmanship is important, and your training will not be taken lightly. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Isyel-ebrithil," came the response, sounding out in a dutiful voice.

"Good. Let us begin."

At that, Isyel began reciting many different instructions and directions for Arya to memorize. It was an extensive list, and she knew that she would have to learn these lessons many more times before she would be able to understand all of it.

Isyel wasn't a boring teacher—quite the contrary. The subject he taught, however, didn't appeal too much to Arya, as she was of a more gentle nature than swordsmanship allowed in a person. She eyed the blade she carried warily, uncertain whether or not she would ever be able to wield such a weapon of destruction in battle.

"Do you have any questions, Arya?"

The query caused Arya to jolt back from her thoughts. "N-no, Isyel-ebrithil," she responded, trying to make it appear as if she had been listening for the whole entire time. In truth, she had blanked out on about half of what Isyel had said—but she was never going to admit it unless she had to.

"Then guard your blade," her mentor directed. When she simply stared back at him with a puzzled look, he gave a sigh. "Arya, I will ask again: do you have any questions?"

Hating the fact that he was getting exasperated with her, she nodded and tried to patch things up. "What do you mean by guarding my blade?" she asked.

Isyel seemed to be pleased at the fact that she had gotten over her pride and was admitting that she had some difficulties. "Think of it this way: if you and I were to pursue combat without any protection, we would without a doubt injure each other severely—not to mention what would happen after some new techniques are drilled in to your head. So, in order to prevent this…" He left off here, raising an eyebrow in a way that suggested Arya to give an answer.

"…We must guard our blades," Arya said, giving a satisfied nod.

"Yes. Now, repeat after me… Though you know the proper words in order to guard your blade, it is best to make certain that you know for sure."

The two of them progressed to guard their blades. Once that was complete, Arya looked to Isyel for instruction. The two stood there, doing nothing except holding their swords. Arya took this time to examine her sword, as well as Isyel's. Both of their weapons were of similar construction; light and fast, a sense of grace etched in to the sword's entire being.

Suddenly, Isyel's head jerked up from looking down at the ground. "Begin," he uttered, then continued to strike with a sharp jab, which Arya swiftly blocked, though it was last minute. Though she tried her hardest, she could not even begin to think about trying a blow on Isyel—she was forever on the defense against his rain of attacks. At last, Arya pulled back.

"I forfeit," she said, casting her eyes downward as she awaited Isyel's reprimand.

It did not come.

Instead, Arya's head snapped up as a blow from the flat of his sword hit her right side.

Arya wasn't weak, but she knew pain when she felt it. Her hands flew to her side and she gave an exclamation of recognition to the now sore spot. Eventually, the pain dulled down to a slight throb, and she knew there would be a bruise there later.

Though she knew it was disrespectful, she glared at Isyel. "What did you do that for?" she demanded, eyes narrowing.

Isyel heaved yet another one of his sighs as he gazed straight in to the green eyes of his pupil. "You must understand the concept of fighting until the death, Arya," he explained, bringing his sword to rest at his side. "In real battle, what you just did would be considered an act of cowardice, and would be a complete and utter death wish. You want to fight to the death, do you understand?"

Arya mulled over Isyel's words for a moment. She knew that he wanted an immediate answer, but it didn't hurt to think, did it? "But what do I have to fight for?" she asked, not letting the topic get away easily.

"That," Isyel said, "is something that you must decide for yourself."

-----

Arya collapsed on her bed in her quarters, exhausted. She pressed the palm of her right hand to her forehead, inhaling and exhaling deeply. She ached all over from her training with Isyel. Elves apparently had more stamina and endurance than humans—or so she had heard—but that just meant that elves had longer training sessions, which still wore them out—and Arya was no exception.

Of course, she could easily go and complain to her mother about Isyel, and Arya would receive a new mentor that would be easier on her… but something inside Arya said no to this idea. When she thought about it, a part of her, a more competitive side, said that Isyel was there as somewhat of a test—a test to try her patience and her ability to learn. This was nothing but a challenge—and Arya was determined to win.

-----

"Again."

Arya once more began a series of attacks that were on a basic level, according to Isyel. To her, there were difficult, and she couldn't help but get a little frustrated as Isyel continuously, in a monotone voice, said the word:

"Again."

Every single time she completed the set of moves, she expected to be given a slight bit of praise—but it never happened.

"Again."

"Would it kill you to say anything else besides 'again'?" Arya hissed through her teeth, her irritation mounting up.

"Once more, then."

It took most of Arya's willpower to not roll her eyes at this statement, though she did comply with Isyel's words. Stepping to the right, she whipped around quickly in a circular motion, bringing her blade striking through the air. The momentum from this swing, however, proved to be too much, sending Arya straight to the ground, her sword gone from her grasp.

Arya groaned and sat up. Isyel was right beside her in an instant, extending his arm, which held her sword. Feeling relatively demoralized, Arya took the blade from him and exhaled deeply. "I'm hopeless," she muttered underneath her breath, hoping that no one heard her.

Her hopes weren't given to her, however. Isyel, hearing her words, looked at her intently as if studying her. "Do it again slowly," he said, not unkindly. "You almost have it."

Arya nodded. Despite the fact that his words weren't in the context that would ordinarily classify them as encouragement, she took heart in what he said. Determined to do it right this time, she settled herself in a ready position, letting the sounds of the forest fill her ears for a moment before she began.

She inhaled deeply and then commenced the pattern. She took a delicate step to the right, spinning around once more in a circular movement. Her actions this time, however, were slower, and much more thoughtfully planned out. With a sense of grace, Arya brought her sword around in a sweeping motion—peaceful, yet deadly during battle.

The female elf continued while her mentor watched on. Each movement transferred lithely to another, running like fluid. During some points, Arya felt as if she were about to falter in her movements, but nonetheless, she took a chance and went on, even daring to speed up.

In a matter of minutes, the elf had finished the sword dance. She ended with an extra flourish: bringing her sword behind her back so that it curved diagonal from her right shoulder to her left hip. Her ending wasn't exactly perfection, however, as she stumbled slightly before managing to stand still. Nevertheless, a sense of contentment filled Arya.

That, however, wasn't enough. Slowly drawing her gaze up, she looked to Isyel, waiting for his judgment.

"That was…" he began, his voice monotone. For a few seconds, Arya thought that he was going to start giving her a lecture on something she had done wrong during the procedure. What he said next, however, made her smile. "…The best I've seen in a while."

"Thank you, ebrithil," Arya answered, barely containing her excitement. Subconsciously, it dawned on her that she didn't necessarily have to address Isyel as 'ebrithil' due to the fact that she was a princess, and thus of higher standing than him no matter what, but somehow, simply calling him Isyel would seem… disrespectful and out of place. He had seen many more years than her, making him wise beyond her own years.

"Now," Isyel said, briskly changing topics. "We shall duel. Guard your blade."

Arya nodded and obeyed, even though she would have preferred a little more time discussing about how well she had done. _No matter, Arya. You can't allow yourself to expect praise all the time._

Readying herself, Arya waited for Isyel's cue to begin. As she had been training with him for a while now, she had somewhat learned how to react within a few moments of him uttering his consent to begin.

"Begin."

Once the word was said, Arya instantly leapt in to action. Her previous success with the sword dance caused her to be rather daring today as she attempted moves that she herself didn't even fully understand. This technique worked relatively well until she happened to find herself so tangled up that she wasn't exactly sure which way to move. Isyel instantly sensed her confusion and without delay attacked, though Arya managed to assume a regular position quick enough to defend.

It was a tough match for both of them, teacher and student alike. In the end, the flat of Arya's blade ended up pressed to Isyel's left shoulder, with his own blade pressed against Arya's as if restraining her from using a sweeping motion.

They both broke off at this time, panting.

"Well fought, Isyel-ebrithil," Arya commented, a hint of a wry smile brushing her lips as she brought her sword to rest at her side.

"And I must say the same to you, Arya," Isyel responded, giving her a nod. "You have learned well—there is not much else for me to teach you in swordsmanship. However, there _are_ still a few lessons, and I believe that it would do you good to know a little bit about them…"

Arya inwardly groaned here, but she kept a normal, unbiased demeanor on the outside. "Yes, ebrithil."

"…But first, why don't we put your swordsmanship to the test a little more?" Isyel added to his previous statement, a smile twinkling in his eyes. "You started out not liking swordsmanship very much… how do you feel about it now?" he asked.

"It's… all right," Arya admitted, shrugging. Though a sword wasn't exactly her weapon of choice (as she preferred to use a bow and arrow), she had found herself gradually getting used to holding and wielding the weapon. There were even some occurrences when she found herself rather liking the ability to swing the gleaming piece of metal around with a sense of dignity and elegance.

"Just all right?" Isyel asked, but then pursued the topic no further, as a new presence had made himself known—Arya could tell by the way Isyel's eyes flickered away from her to behind her. She turned, and saw Faolin walking from the expanse of the forest.

"Right on time, Faolin-vodhr. Welcome," Isyel greeted. "I've asked you here in order to test your skills against Arya's."

Faolin nodded, turning his silvery eyes on Arya. "Well then," he began, grinning. "I'm sure it's something that we're both looking forward to."

Arya, in turn, let a smile flit across her face before she nodded her approval of the challenge.

Positioning themselves in a ready stance after making sure that their blades were guarded, they waited for Isyel.

"Commence."

Immediately, both Faolin and Arya entered in to combat mode, jabbing and parrying whenever needed. As Arya continued dueling with Faolin, she noted that Faolin seemed to remain consistent with his attacks, keeping them all the same, whereas she simply attacked with whatever moves happened to fit the situation.

Faolin was a good warrior, although he wasn't exactly light on his feet. He made up for that, however, by keeping his moves thorough, always making sure that they did what they were supposed to do.

It was apparent that both elves had a certain level of determination, for neither of them faltered, not even when they were panting, with sweat forming on their brow. When one appeared to have the upper hand, the other was to never be underestimated, for they would often come back with a stronger move.

The sound of swords clanging against each other filled the air, metal against metal.


	7. Outside of Du Weldenvarden

**A/N; **Peace! How's it going there? ;D So, since I failed to update yesterday (because I fell asleep…), this is the first of two chapters you're probably going to get today. ^^

So, how are all of you doing today? :3

(Hopefully you're doing well! ^^).

New chapter! New chapter! New chapter!

Haha, yay! ;)

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The sun slowly rose, trekking its path through the sky. Eyelids fluttered gently, and a soft sound was uttered from the elf's vocal chords. As her jade colored eyes opened with her lids half lowered over them, she stirred slightly in her bed.

Sunlight streamed cheerfully in to her room, illuminating the premises. Sitting up slowly, Arya slid out of bed. Quickly changing in to a soft, velvety forest green tunic with a pair of black leggings, the female took a delicate step outside of her quarters. Her bare feet touched the grass, which was wet with the morning dew. Leaning down, she brushed her fingers through the moistened grass, feeling the coolness of the water droplets when they clung to her hand.

The temperature was somewhat warm, though a lethargic breeze kept it relatively brisk. Stepping back in to her quarters, Arya pulled on a pair of supple leather boots, lacing them up so that they fit snugly. Performing a few stretches, she inhaled and exhaled deeply a few times. After that, Arya once more went outside, treading nonchalantly.

She wandered around for a while, before being joined without a word by Faolin. They walked together, side by side, both of them of their own accord. It was a quiet pact; both of them took turns in leading which way their paths went.

It was Faolin who broke the silence first. "Arya," he stated, surprising Arya from her own contemplations as she turned her head to look at Faolin. She met his gray eyes head on, and winced inwardly, though she betrayed nothing on the outside. "Have you heard much from the world outside of Du Weldenvarden?"

Arya was surprised at the question. "Of course not," she said matter-of-factly, as if stating the obvious. She peered at Faolin curiously. "Why, have you?" she asked, tilting her head to the side as she awaited his answer.

Faolin didn't say anything for a few moments. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, he emphasized his words with a slight nod. "Yes, I have."

A slight hint of alarm rose in Arya. "What?" she asked, impatience beginning to snake in to her voice.

Once again, Faolin took a while to respond. "There are," he said slowly, "more and more troubles brewing in the Empire, day after day."

Arya furrowed her brow in confusion. Why couldn't he just say it straight? She was about to voice her opinion aloud, but was cut short when Faolin continued.

"And day after day, things are changing—and not for the better." At this statement, Faolin appeared rather mournful. "King Galbatorix and the Forsworn have continued raging around the country, recruiting citizens in to an army for twisted purposes. Those who resist are killed, though there are rumors that a group of people have formed a resistance that is hidden away somewhere unknown."

"Faolin, how do you know this?" Arya asked, wondering why he would chose to speak about this subject right now. "And why do you know of it when I don't?" In truth, she felt a little hurt—once again, she was ousted out of knowledge that she felt she needed to know. Why did Faolin, with his lesser status than her, get to know about these things when she didn't?

"There have been other rumors of a race not human, nor of any race we know, terrorizing and rampaging around the Empire, seemingly working in an allegiance with the Empire," Faolin continued, not addressing Arya's inquiries, sending a surge of frustration through her. Could no one ever give a direct answer to her questions?

"But, Faolin—" Arya was cut off here as Faolin continued to speak.

"The people are confused and scared, Arya. They don't know what to do, and it's as if they're balancing on a ledge, close to an edge of a cliff, if you will. Just the slightest push or pull can send them toppling in either direction, either over the edge, or back to safety. No one knows what to do."

"But Faolin!" Arya exclaimed, ignoring his glare when she interrupted yet again. "How do you expect me to believe or understand any of this when I'm not witnessing any of these events? How can you expect me to comprehend what's going on in the Empire when everyone treats me as if I'm a little naïve elf child? I'm over thirty now, same as you—and I'm an elf princess, at that! That doesn't mean I have to live like a pampered little child, do I? In some ways, I was raised more male than female—just look at the way I dress!" She paused here for a breather before continuing. "An elf princess, the future leader to her people… well, she has the right to know, doesn't she?" She took a step closer to Faolin, looking at him intently. "Doesn't she?"

Faolin twitched with discomfort. "I-I don't know, my lady," he said, looking down at the ground. Every time Arya asked questions like this, he would always have the tendency to revert back to acknowledging that his position was lower than hers; he was a regular elf, while she was a princess.

"Very well," Arya murmured, surprising Faolin to the extent where he looked directly up at her. "But, mark my words well—the next time you go to learn about what is going on in the Empire… you _will_ take me with you." Her words had a sense of authority in them that Faolin wanted to resist so much—but he couldn't.

"But, Arya—"

"No buts," she stated firmly. From that point, she proceeded to walk forward in a casual manner, leaving Faolin to look after her.

Emotions swirled around in Faolin's mind, aligning themselves in to a perfect amount of turmoil. What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to chase after her and cry her pardon? Or was he supposed to pretend that nothing had happened?

Faolin cursed slightly underneath his breath as he began following Arya. He tread carefully on the ground, making sure that he did not step on any twigs, for fear of disrupting the silence and thus causing Arya to turn around and ask him more questions about how he knew about what was happening in the Empire.

Running his fingers through his air, Faolin moved forward with the utmost stealth. Despite his wanting to remain inconspicuous, he couldn't help but let out a sigh.

There was a lot to be said in one single sigh. Faolin's sigh was one of exasperation, true, but if you looked deeper… well, there were certain things that could be told. For example, why was he sighing of exasperation? It was simple: he wanted to protect Arya from any dangers that lurked in the Empire, which there were sure to be many. After all, many of the humans hated the elves, for they believed that they were cowardly, hiding in the own depths of their forest.

In some ways, Faolin had to agree with them.

-----

The moon's reflection wavered in the cool, black water as a gust of wind stirred the placid surface. Faolin made his way cautiously through the forest, attempting to creep without a sound. His eyes, pools of silvery gray, darted every which way.

Suddenly, his left foot came down on a twig. The twig snapped abruptly, leaving Faolin to stand there, frozen. Hopefully if anyone had heard it, they had simply dismissed it for the sound of an animal. As it turned out, most elves still awake, indeed, simply took the sound as some creature scurrying about.

But Arya didn't. Standing near the ledge of her window, she looked down. For a fleeting instant, she saw a flash of silver through the night that passed by so quickly, it could have just been a figment of her imagination. Arya, however, thought differently.

Craftily, she slipped through her window, ignoring the usage of her door, as it could creak and give her away quite easily. Once her feet, encased in the same boots as earlier today, touched the ground, she spared no time. Trusting her instincts, she followed the elf—which was, without a doubt, Faolin.

To ordinary humans, the forest at night would have appeared rather daunting—but Arya thought it looked rather pretty. Her eyes drifted to the scenery, marveling at how different it seemed at night. She snapped back to attention, however, when she apprehended that Faolin had increased his speed.

Following in pursuit, Arya tracked Faolin through the forests of Du Weldenvarden. She considered calling his name, but was afraid to awaken any souls who happened to have their dwellings here.

Soon, Arya realized that Faolin was going straight for the borders of Du Weldenvarden.

A sense of apprehension overcame her, but she followed the male elf nevertheless, since her curiosity won out over her fear.

She had never before ventured out of Du Weldenvarden, and Arya was confused. She had thought that Faolin was receiving news of the Empire from another elf—not from outside sources.

Unexpectedly, the forests of Du Weldenvarden ended. Arya halted here, as she looked out on to the endless flat plain that extended from underneath her feet. In the distance, she could see Faolin's figure still running. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she took a tentative step on the land outside of the forest. She was surprised to see that it was sand, and with a slight "oh!" she realized that she was standing on the border of a desert.

A desert? For goodness sake, why was Faolin running across a desert?

_There is no time for questions, Arya—just answers._ Calming herself through a series of inhales and exhales, the female elf began darting after Faolin, kicking up sand, which twirled around her as if performing a dance of some sort.

No foliage grew from the sand, Arya saw. As she began to grasp the general size of the desert from the fact that she couldn't see anything but endless amounts of sand in either direction, amazement crept over her. Why had Faolin not shown any of this to her before?

Steeling herself against the harsh winds that gusted all the more fiercely through the desert, Arya trudged on, convincing herself that all would be answered once she met up with Faolin.

It was at this point when a new worry overcame her. How would Faolin react to her following him? Would he be absolutely furious, and would he send her back? She had authority over him, yes, but she hated acting like she did.

Faolin's image got closer and closer as she neared him, and she suddenly saw that he had slowed down. _Why?_

Before overtaking him, Arya found the answer to that question and slowed down. If Faolin had to slow down… well, it was obvious that he was dealing with a place where there were humans, and humans didn't take too well to seeing supernatural things—such as uncommon speed.

A small inhabitance made itself known in to her view as Arya neared where Faolin was going. At this point, she was getting tired of the sand, although she had to admit that it was good for muffling the sound of her footsteps.

As Arya got closer, she realized that there was a small hut built, almost unnoticeable unless you looked carefully.

By now, she was about twenty paces behind Faolin. If he turned around, then he would obviously see her. Because of that, she took care not to do anything foolish that might give away her position.

Faolin entered the hut, which was enclosed on three sides with some type of wall made with mud, and partially closed on the last side with some type of canvas. It was a dismal looking little place, but if Faolin found out all he needed to know about the Empire from there… well, she was looking forward to going inside and finding out everything she wanted to know once and for all.

Arya waited for a few moments before slipping in after Faolin.


	8. Rainbows and Butterflies

**A/N; **Ooooh! There was kind of a cliffhanger at the end of the last chapter, wasn't there? O:

Well, everything (or maybe not…) will be resolved in this chapter. 8D

But, never fear! This story is long from over (or, maybe you're shrinking in terror now since you really want this torture to be over xD).

Reviews would be lovely, but absolutely not necessary. I'm not down to the begging level yet. xP

To EmeraldArya's question of how old Arya was in Chapter 6… well, originally, I was going to make her like… forty or so, but then when I read something on the Inheritance Wiki thing, it said that Arya got the yawe when she was around thirty, so I was like, "Uhhh. Major problem here." So you can basically think of Arya as around like… late twenties, early thirties?

Woohoo! So, I'm now pumped for another chapter. ^^

-----

The simplicity of the place amazed Arya. It contained nothing but the barest necessities: a crudely made bed, with a tiny fire pit marked nearby with a circle of rocks. A roughly made wooden chair inhabited a corner of the place, a couple eating utensils, plates, and a pot piled up on it in a clump that looked right about to fall.

"Ah, greetings, Faolin," a hoarse voice remarked, causing Arya to finally see the figure of a man hunched next to the bed. From his appearance, the man was not very sanitary, as his beard was untrimmed, and as a whole, he looked as if he were covered head to toe with grime. A cap covered his head, with a few locks of brown escaping from it. Brown eyes flickered briefly behind Faolin—toward Arya.

"I see that you've brought a friend; she is trustworthy, correct?" the man asked.

_A friend?_ Faolin thought wildly, then whipped around as a feeling of dread began to creep over him, praying that _she_ wasn't standing behind him.

His prayers were not answered.

"Arya!" Faolin cried, throwing his hands up in aggravation. Grabbing Arya's right arm roughly, he pulled her to him, hissing in her ear, "What are you doing here?"

Arya wrenched herself from Faolin's grasp and looked at him, her face as calm as the night sounded. "I might ask the same of you, Faolin," she answered in a quiet voice.

How did she manage to keep her composure like that? Faolin grimaced inwardly; he would never be able to do that. He resisted the urge to grab Arya by the shoulders and trying to shake some sense in to her.

Ignoring Arya's comment, Faolin turned back to the man occupying the tent with them. "I apologize, Brom," Faolin muttered. "I did not know she would be following me here."

"Nonsense, nonsense…" the man, presumably Brom, said as he regarded Arya with careful eyes. He stood up to his full height, and Arya saw that, in fact, her first impressions had been wrong.

Shifting his gaze back to Faolin, the man spoke once more. "Well, Faolin, are you not going to introduce me to your friend?" he asked, looking straight at the fuming elf.

"Brom, this is Arya," Faolin said in a strained voice, and even Arya had to feel pity for the elf. Guilt tugged at her fiercely, since after all it was her fault that Faolin was now so distressed, but she washed away these thoughts with a firm thought that told her it was her right and position.

"A pleasure, my lady," Brom greeted, sticking his hand straight out in the form of a friendly gesture. Arya, rather mystified that he had the guts to actually _shake her hand_, cautiously grasped his hand and shook it twice before recoiling.

Studying Brom, she came to the conclusion that he was no ordinary human. If he could make eye contact with her easily and could shake her hand with a firm grip—things that even some of the elves couldn't do—it was obvious that he was not afraid of her.

"Likewise," Arya responded, meeting the man's eyes straight on, even though the instinct to look away was pounding in her mind.

Faolin cleared his throat at this moment, and Brom once more looked back at him. "Arya, I suggest you leave now," Faolin stated in a monotone voice, not bothering to even look at the female elf. He didn't like going against his princess's wishes, but there were some things that he just wanted to shield her from knowing.

Arya glared at Faolin with the expanse of her green eyes, anger flashing through them, even though she fought to keep her current pleasant demeanor. "Faolin," she began, addressing the elf directly. "It is my duty to the elves to know the outside manners in which my mother has to conduct upon. If you so wish to shield this knowledge from me, then there are other precautions that you can take besides trying to forbid me of your own accord. If you can give me a good reason why I should not take ownership of any of this knowledge, pray tell me before time runs short and we must return back to Du Weldenvarden for fear of being missed."

"The lady makes sense," Brom pointed out dryly, a flicker of a smile on his face along with a hint of admiration in his eyes for Arya at her strong headedness and willingness to do anything for her people. Though it wasn't said outright, Brom had pieced together from the way Arya acted and how she carried herself that Arya was of some high standing, a standing that even Faolin had to obey to in the end.

Faolin flashed a look to Brom that conveyed the message 'you're not helping' quite clearly. Feeling rather dejected, the male elf sat on the ground, his face the exact image of someone very frustrated. Even though it was evident that Arya wasn't budging from the hut until her questions were sated, he still had to try once more.

"Are you sure you want to know all of this?" Faolin asked Arya, his eyes showing that the situation was of the utmost seriousness. "It is not a pleasant topic, and I highly doubt that you would like to listen to it. It is not something fit for the ears of many."

"But it is still fit for the ears of some," Arya murmured as her soft retort before sitting down on the ground beside him. "And now," she added, looking up at Brom, "what about the news that we have all been waiting for—are there any new happenings that we should know about?"

"Things have not been so well in the Empire, as you can imagine," Brom stated in a rueful manner, giving a shrug. "The resistance of humans nestled away have been busy making alliances; they have already begun to negotiate with the dwarves. The resistance has also procured a dragon egg through secret means, and there is currently a need for seeing whom exactly the egg will hatch for.

"Of course, all of us are hoping for the rebirth of the Dragon Riders—ones that are not corrupt as Galbatorix is. The only trouble with this is that elves have also had a history in becoming Riders… and, as the resistance do not have much connection with the elves, there is not much communication established between the two races. If we could somehow be provided with someone who is trusted with the elves, the prospect of ferrying the dragon egg between the humans and elves can truly come alive."

At these words, Arya raised her head, a sudden interest flaring in her. "Like an ambassador?" she asked in a hushed voice.

Brom nodded, and at the same moment, Arya felt Faolin shift uneasily beside her.

_An ambassador… A representative for her race._

Perhaps that would impress her mother in to seeing that Arya truly did matter to the elves, and that Arya would prove herself to be a good leader?

"What does it take?" Arya found herself asking, intrigued.

"It takes a lot of skill," Brom answered. "And a lot of courage and bravery, as well as the ability to not take every single word said against you too seriously. After all, you must remember that some members of the human resistance feel as if the elves have been hiding away all this time and are too cowardly to show your face in battle—to some of them, you are a disgrace. Do your job well, however, and they may begin to forgive your race somewhat, though that is only if you do extraordinarily well."

A feeling of determination crept over Arya, despite the restraining hand that Faolin set on her arm.

"I wish to do it," she declared, standing up and drawing to her full height, making her almost as tall as Brom.

Brom looked rather perplexed for a split second, but then he appeared to be rather pleased. "It's not all rainbows and butterflies, however," he said as a general warning.

"Rainbows and butterflies are things I can do without, then."


	9. Logic Against Cowardice

**A/N;** I love my reviewers. A lot. :) They make me happy. Mucho happy.

x)

Mahhhh.

I've realized that I have a sort of repetition involving word choices & phrases… Bah, I've got to work on those, I know.

But, anywhoooo…

-----

"Daughter, you are not fit for such a task." This voice seemed to lack any variety in what it said, almost to the extent where sheer boredom was involved.

"Mother, I _am_ fit for this task." In contrast, these words were said with a firm importance, as if fueled by a passion that would not be so easily brought down.

"I do not believe that you know what you are talking about, Arya. The job of an ambassador requires more skill than simply dallying around for your own fun."

The words should have stung Arya, but before her confrontation, she had hardened herself against any snide comments made by her mother that were made only for the sole purpose of trying to dissuade her.

"And I believe that I _do_ know what I am talking about. The duty I will take on consists of endless devotion to the cause of the Dragon Riders, as well as to overthrow Galbatorix," Arya shot back.

This was a scene to witness, with Islanzadí sitting on her throne, garbed in an elegant gown of saffron-colored silk that beheld intricate stitching for a design, and Arya standing in front, her sharp features clothed in a deep russet tunic along with a pair of black leggings.

The effect of their clothing was enough to form somewhat of 'the prince and the pauper' scene, though it was betrayed due to the way both women carried herself—Islanzadí sitting high in her throne assuming a queenly posture, and Arya with her chin up and shoulders squared.

The room was spacious and lavishly furnished, with soft, scarlet red carpeting that caused one's feet to sink two inches in to it when stepped upon. Sunlight streamed through the windows that captured the luscious world outside of the throne hall through their glass frames, adding its form of illumination to the torches burning brightly inside the area.

If she had been here for any other reason, Arya would've marveled at the expanse of the throne hall, as it wasn't every day she was allowed to be in here. As a matter of fact, she wasn't exactly supposed to be in here right now—she had simply let herself in. The queen was, no doubt, tired from her work of settling certain disputes—even elves had their own troubles, no matter how in sync they appeared to be with each other—but Arya wasn't about to let her mother off the hook easy just because she was the queen.

"Arya," the queen began, attempting at another approach. "Please. I am tired and worn from the day's events. I will discuss this matter with you another time, perhaps when I am more well-rested."

Islanzadí slid down from her throne. As she neared Arya, she began to make a gesture as if she were going to touch her daughter on the shoulder, but then withdrew at the last minute. At this notion, all sympathy for her mother vanished from Arya as she once again toughened her heart and her voice.

"Islanzadí," she stated shortly in an icy tone, addressing her mother by her name. "I came here asking for an audience. Though I did not do it formally, I assumed this because I felt that I, your _daughter_, do not need to go through those formalities just to speak to my own mother. Since I have already gone to the trouble of being here, you can at least hear me out, can you not?"

Arya was somewhat taken aback at her words, though this did not do anything to stop her from speaking her mind. Even if it wasn't her normal demeanor, she would willingly take a step out of her shell in order to secure a position with the human resistance—which, she had learned after some prying from Brom, was named the Varden.

_The Varden._

The name was a strong one, and Arya had to admit that it put forth a bold image in her mind. After all, in some ways, it could be that that the name was derived from the own forest of the elves, Du Welden_varden_.

"I have already heard enough, Arya, and I, as of now, forbade you to become ambassador of the elves," Islanzadí responded tiredly, waving her hand as if dismissing Arya from her presence.

Islanzadí wasn't trying to be cruel—quite the contrary, actually. She was attempting to show her daughter that she cared for her in such a way that she did not want her daughter's life endangered—but, obviously, it wasn't working. Instead, it was having completely the opposite impact.

And Islanzadí didn't know how to fix it.

"You forbid me?" Arya asked, a mock incredulous look spreading across her face. _As if I haven't already gathered that from everything, _she thought to herself with a mental sigh, _she already treats me like a stranger and a foreigner; it's no wonder why she doesn't want to grant me something that can actually make me feel as if I'm doing something._

"Yes, daughter. As your mother, and the queen, I have a right to forbid things I see as unfit and not beneficial to the elves."

"_Beneficial?_ Please, mother, pray tell me why this is _not_ beneficial toward the elves? If we renew our ties with the human race, we have a chance of finding the next Dragon Rider!"

At this moment, Islanzadí whipped around to face her daughter. "Dragon Riders? They are nothing but a figment of one's imagination! They do not exist in any shape or form, and daughter, you should not believe any tales told about them!"

"They _did _exist, mother. They _do_ exist, in fact—one of them does, at least. They _will_ exist once more—and they _will_ thrive," Arya hissed in response to her mother. She immediately regretted those words, for her mother was quick with her logic and asked,

"How do you know these things, Arya?"

It was the question that Arya had dreaded; she had wanted to prolong it as long as possible.

"Come to think of it, daughter, where have you gotten these fanciful notions to bond the elves and the humans?"

Another question that Arya did not find favorable to answer. She bit her lip as her mentality assumed a pose in order to figure out what to say in answer.

She had to pretend as if she had simply stumbled on the knowledge on accident, for she knew that if she let Brom's name slip, involuntarily or not, things would not turn out as planned.

In her perfect little fantasy world, Islanzadí would've immediately accepted her proposal of becoming the representative of the elves, and all would have been fine.

In reality, however, things were left to take their own course.

Instead of answering the question full on, Arya decided to angle around it, hoping to mislead her mother off of the original path. "Is it wrong for me, as a princess, to want to know about these 'fanciful notions,' as you put it?" she asked defensively, looking at her mother straight on, defiance etched in every fiber of her being.

It was obvious to Islanzadí that she was losing this battle, but she would not go down without a fight. "It is when you are still too young to have to bear such information," the queen remarked, her voice even and quiet. "Reports I have heard have been much too gruesome to let the elves know about."

"Reports?" Arya asked. "Are you meaning to say that you have not once set foot outside of Du Weldenvarden even after these _reports_ bearing news such as the _Fall of the Dragon Riders_ just to see what damage has been wreaked upon the innocent citizens dwelling in the Empire?" Though Arya had just admitted to knowing another fact about the Riders—the fact about the Fall—her anger blinded her too much to see.

_I am only trying to protect her; I wish she would see,_ Islanzadí thought to herself dejectedly as she fought the urge to look away from her daughter's piercing emerald gaze, which were remarkable in their similarity to Evandar's eyes.

A fresh wave of sadness overcame the queen, but she remained in a regal stature as she tried to get Arya to understand her own point of view of the topic. "It is dangerous, which is why I have withdrawn our connections with the humans. If we keep to ourselves, Galbatorix will not bother the elves, as we have done nothing yet to oppose him. It is simple logic, my daughter."

"Logic! More like cowardice!" Arya cried. She faltered here, taking a few deep breaths in order to douse the flame of compassion for those not wanting to give in to the Empire that had leapt to arms in her heart and mind.

If it was one thing Islanzadí could not stand, it was a blow to her pride. She, the queen of the elves, who had suffered through many insults and snide comments, absolutely detested when she was called a coward.

Arya received a glare from Islanzadí so cold that it sent a chill running down her back. Never before had Arya taken a look from Islanzadí like that, not as far back as she could remember. Though Arya longed to break rank and flee, she remained where she was, awaiting Islanzadí's wrath of need be.

"Arya _Drottningu_," Islanzadí snapped, adding an emphasis to Arya's title that seemed somewhat of a mockery to it. "I leave it up to you whether or not you decide to pledge yourself to this human resistance. I leave it up to you whether or not you decide to receive the yawe."

A sense of relief washed over Arya, but then it instantly turned to fear as the queen continued her words.

"Know this, daughter, and know this well. If you therefore wish to join the resistance and become the ambassador of the elves, know full well that you are no longer welcome in my presence."


	10. A Strange, Strange Character

**A/N;** Ahh… It's so cold here. D:

Ugh. I just have to think SUNSHINE. WARMTH. SUMMER. NO SCHOOL.

Bah. Dx

ANYWAY, I guess it's time for an update, eh? ;D I didn't do one yesterday because I was… blahhh… mucho tired-o.

Cheers for all my reviewers! ^^

-----

"Are you sure about this, Arya?"

"Yes."

"Is it truly your heart's desire to become affiliated with the Varden and, in doing so, represent your race?"

"It is."

"Do you—"

"Enough, Faolin. I know that this is the correct duty for me, and I will not be swayed in my decision," Arya interrupted firmly, her eyes boring in to Faolin's silvery gray ones. "Whether or not _you_ think that this is the proper decision for me… I cannot allow that to influence my choice. I may be going to my death—but I do so willingly."

Faolin studied Arya carefully for a few moments. Finally, he broke off from his observations, coming to the conclusion that Arya was actually dead serious, and that this was not some random feat she wanted to accomplish just for the sake of adventure. That would not have suited Arya anyway, as she had somewhat lost her taste of going on escapades a while ago.

"I am going to speak with Brom tonight, Faolin. This is it," she breathed quietly, her voice barely above a whisper as she took a step closer to him.

Extending her hand, Arya looked up at Faolin. "One last time?" she asked, looking at him solemnly.

It took a little while for Faolin to comprehend what she was saying, as it had been a long time since they had had the time.

He stared in to Arya's eyes for a moment, losing himself in their emerald green depths. Subconsciously, he noted the hint of a crystalline tear balancing on the edge of one of the delicate eyelashes that rimmed her eyes. For an instant, Faolin had half mind to reach out and brush the tear away—but he resisted. Instead, he grasped Arya's hand and nodded.

"One last time," he said, and they both took off running through the forest, as they had when they were younger.

-----

It was as if they were reliving the moments of the past. As if bringing back traditions from long ago, the sun's rays found Faolin and Arya laying side by side, staring up at the sky.

A dreamy look crossed across Faolin's face, and for a split second, he forgot about all of his troubles and worries—most of which involved Arya to a certain extent. He gave a slight sigh, but otherwise made no movement as his eyes were filled with the blueness of the sky and, in the corners of his eyes, the golden rays emitting from the sun.

Arya, on the other hand, could not get rid of the thoughts that were endlessly plaguing her. Most of them involved her rash decision to accept the mark of the yawe, but those weren't exactly the most pressing matters on her mind. After a while of thinking, she realized that most of her reflections centered around one subject: Faolin.

Turning her head, she stared at the elf. As she traced the familiar figure traits of him with her eyes, her face began to relax in to a faint smile, and she closed her eyes for a little before opening them once more.

As if sensing that she was watching him, Faolin turned his own head and met Arya's gaze willingly. It was, at first, a little awkward—for both of them—but eventually they managed to slow their quickly beating hearts.

Reaching out tentatively, Faolin gently brushed a loose strand of hair from Arya's face, his hand lightly touching her cheek as he did so.

It was at this moment when Faolin decided something.

"Arya," he said softly, though he knew that he already held her attention.

Faolin hesitated here, and Arya looked at him, encouraging him to continue on with his sentence.

"I have decided that wherever you go…" Faolin stopped here, wondering if he was choosing wisely with the way of his words. "…I go." Well, now it was too late to feel any remorse for saying the words out loud—they were out, and there was nothing he could do to take it back.

These words seemed to take an immediate affect on Arya. She sat up quickly, drawing her knees to her chest as she eyed Faolin warily.

"What are you saying?" she asked, looking at him fixedly.

Faolin too sat up. "I am saying, Arya, that I care for you deeply, and that I will follow you in to the duty of the resistance."

"It is dangerous, Faolin," Arya protested sharply, then stopped short as the apprehended the irony of the situation; a few hours before, she had been interrogated by Faolin with the same comments.

"Dangerous it may be. Without any logic it may be. But that does not stop the heart from doing what it believes is right," Faolin responded, his tone covered with a sense of peacefulness and tranquility.

"But, Faolin… Only one ambassador is needed, and only one ambassador should be risked—after all, simply one will not be suspected. But two… it is risky, Faolin." Arya gave her answer with some level of uncertainty, playing with a few locks of her hair absent-mindedly as she tried to gain some control over the situation.

"But three can divide and conquer, do not forget something as simple as that."

Arya turned and looked at Faolin strangely. Had he truly just said something like that, something that had no relevance with the current topic at all? Raising her eyebrows, she waited for Faolin to explain himself.

"That wasn't me…" he muttered underneath his breath as a rustle of underbrush sounded not far off. Both elves turned to face where the sound had come from.

Emerging from the trees was a slender slip of an elf, willowy and delicate. He finished off his appearance with the flourish of a deep bow before looking down at Faolin and Arya with a good-natured smile written clearly across his face as he recited the lines contained in the formal greeting.

Once pleasantries were exchanged, the newcomer elf remained standing, which might have been displayed as an act of rudeness, if Arya hadn't been so intrigued as to who the elf was.

"The name is Glenwing," the elf stated shortly. For the first time, Arya picked up a hidden melody dancing through the elf's words when he spoke. A slight smile tugged at her lips when she recognized the sound of a potential singer in their midst.

Glenwing was, from his appearance, was about the same age as them—which was surprising, as both Faolin and Arya had grown up believing that there were no other elf children in Du Weldenvarden. It was rather odd for this elf to be showing up now, but Arya couldn't help but feel a slight hint of dismay—after all, she and Faolin had both missed out on this stranger's childhood.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Glenwing," Arya told the elf, giving him a nod as she studied him rather curiously. Faolin did not say a word and remained rather tense, as if not quite trusting Glenwing. In truth, Arya knew that Faolin was smart to remain on guard, but she herself felt that there was some type of amiable demeanor surrounding Glenwing that made him a likeable character.

"May I ask, however, why you made your earlier comment on how three can divide and conquer?" Arya asked after a while.

Glenwing did not give her an answer, for he had his head tilted up toward the trees, a look of pure delight flitting across his face. Faolin furrowed his brow in confusion, and even Arya had to admit that she was feeling somewhat perplexed that Glenwing was not answering the question she posed for him.

They remained in a block of silence before Arya decided to break it by repeating her question once more. This seemed to snap Glenwing out of his trance-like state, and he turned to look at her.

"Ah, my apologies, Arya Drottningu. I was simply listening to the melodies of the birds—how fascinating they are, do you not agree?"

He once more did not address her question, but Arya found herself simply taken along with the flow of the events. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. "I suppose so," she responded, not sure of what she should say next.

_Glenwing… He is obviously not afraid of me, and he speaks as if he is about to break out in a song,_ Arya thought to herself as she watched Glenwing. _He is certainly a most strange character._

"Now, on the subject of your question!" Glenwing declared, breaking Arya from her contemplations. "Forgive me for intruding and eavesdropping on your conversation, but I find that it is impossible to shut your ears from hearing the things that are floating around—you experience that a lot in listening to the birds. But, ah! I am getting off track." Appearing flustered, Glenwing ran his fingers through his dark colored hair in somewhat a bit of distress. "If I am not mistaken, there is a resistance that is waiting for you two to reinstall connections between them and the race of the elves?"

Not bothering to wait for an answer, he continued on.

"And, I believe that since my time living in Du Weldenvarden has proven to be nothing of much interest, there are greater things for me to achieve—but these things lie _outside_ of this forest, though I daresay that I will miss all of this—" Glenwing paused here to gesture around him. "—And the company of the elves. Still, however, this renewal of ties between races does seem to be a big deal, does it not? And maybe, it will even allow us to have our names written in the books of history and sung in various hymns! Does that not seem glorious?"

Arya and Faolin both looked at Glenwing, somewhat bemused. The same thought ran through their heads, more or less, although both of them did not know it.

_What a strange, strange elf._


	11. All In Due Time

**A/N;** Ahhh… Chapter time, eh?

Yay. 8D

So, haha, I have a new addition to the music I listen to while I write… Yesterday I bought the album _Walk This Way_ off of iTunes, an album sung 'The White Tie Affair.' They're a very good band. You should check them out. ;D

So, as a summary of the last chapter… well, uh, Faolin decided that he was going to go with Arya, and then the introduction of Glenwing is made… I suggest you read Glenwing and his personality, as I think some of you will find it kind of interesting. xD; Maybe, maybe not.

This is kind of a filler chapter, I guess? Kinda boring. D:

ANYWAY~!

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"…And tell my mother that though she wishes our ties to be severed, I will remember her, even if it is not in the best way possible."

The courier nodded and set off, straight in the direction of the palatial throne hall located in the heart of Ellesméra.

Arya heaved a deep sigh as she leaned back against a tree, glad for the sturdiness of the whole entire plant. Through the different crevices of air in between the large amount of leaves shading the whole area, she glimpsed patches of the sky.

If it was one thing she admired the most, it was the ability to change and to have such a powerful effect on everything—and the sky had that ability. When the sky was a shade of the purest blue interrupted only with the golden rays of the sun, the whole aura radiating from it seemed to be the exact image of a halcyon day. When the sky was gray and storm clouds were gathering, however, a sense of gloom would often drape itself around the area relatively comfortably.

"Are you ready?" a voice asked from behind her, and without looking, Arya knew who it was.

"No," Arya murmured softly, turning around. "But we have to go."

Hand in hand, Faolin and Arya made their way to the edge of Du Weldenvarden. Glenwing, who had seemed to sober up from his last appearance, met them after a matter of minutes. A silent nod was all they needed for greeting, for none of them wanted to speak. In truth, Arya couldn't quite trust herself to speak, for fear of blurting out a renunciation of her wishes to become ambassador of the elves. As for the other two, they simply kept their mouths shut in order to think about their own thoughts.

Upon their calls, three creatures came trotting out of the forest to them. These creatures bore a resemblance to the human horse, and it was no doubt that somehow the two were related. Still, the Elvin horse was more purebred, and the elves prided themselves with that fact. Each and every horse of their creation was of a pure white color; white enough to rival even the color of fresh-fallen snow. They all had a nearly infallible sense of directness and surefootedness, not to mention the fact that they managed to execute all of this technique with a high level of agility and poise.

Ebony hooves struck the ground at an even rhythm, bringing the horses closer and closer until they stopped at word from their riders with a few words thought in the Ancient Language. Even though these horses were common among the elves, Arya still couldn't help but take a sharp intake of breath when the magnificent beasts neared. Staring at her with earnest chocolate brown eyes, her horse seemed to possess a high level of wisdom. Cautiously, Arya reached out and ran her fingers lightly through the silky white strands of mane that fell in waves along the creature's gracefully arched neck.

"They're as glorious as always," she murmured, remaining in her awed state before breaking out of it long enough to attach her saddle bags filled to the brim with supplies to the horse. She hated to burden such a beautiful animal with such a load, but she was forced to, as she certainly was not about to carry all of it on her back.

Faolin and Glenwing did the same with their horses, clipping on the saddlebags securely and firmly. Once that was done, Glenwing mounted, gripping the reins firmly and setting his eyes straight in front of him. Faolin, however, glanced over at Arya. He made a move to Arya as if to offer to give her a leg up, but she declined with a slight wave of her hand.

"If we're going to be living a life of hardship together, you are both my equals, Faolin, and I do not expect you to wait on me hand and foot," she told him before swinging her right leg over her horse's back and landing easily in the saddle. She adjusted her stirrups quickly and then settled right in to the saddle, making sure that she was comfortable. After all, she would most likely be spending many of her days in the saddle.

Faolin seemed to be a little puzzled at this statement, but otherwise went along with it, getting on his own horse.

"Are we ready?" Arya asked cautiously.

"I am," Glenwing said shortly with a little nod. Unceremoniously, he allowed his mount to head off first, though he obviously did not have the slightest clue where they were going. Dismissing this action, Arya proceeded to start her horse in motion, Faolin not far behind.

No words were said between the trio. Glenwing was still listening for the sound of the birds, storing them in his mind, as he all of a sudden realized that he would not be hearing their sweet sound as a primary source for much longer. Humming the melodies quietly to himself, a pleased expression crossed his face when he managed to memorize a large portion of the bird melodies he had heard.

After a while, Arya had taken lead of their group. Taking a deep breath, she sped her mount up, darting in to the desert. She felt the urge to take one last look at Du Weldenvarden, but resisted doing so, though she longed to. Biting her lip, she blinked away the tears that had all of a sudden threatened to spill out in the form of a furious torrent.

A few tears leaked out, and Arya wiped them away hastily before either Faolin or Glenwing could see the sun's light reflecting off of the crystalline substance. If it was one thing she hated, it was allowing others to see her cry. Even though to some it was a sign of showing emotion, which was good, it was a sign of weakness to Arya, and she would not be caught dead crying if she could help it.

Soon, the inhabitance belonging to Brom came in to view. Arya snuck a glance at both of her companions. Glenwing appeared at ease, while Faolin seemed to be anxious and tense. In truth, Arya sided more with Faolin when it came to determining how she felt.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, trying to ignore the heat that the desert sand seemed to radiate, Arya and her two companions made it closer and closer to Brom's little makeshift hut. When they were around twenty feet away, Arya halted, and Faolin and Glenwing did the same. Dismounting, Arya made sure that her horse understood that he was not supposed to stray from the relative area. Faolin and Glenwing also proceeded to do so and then followed Arya inside.

It was quite obvious by now who the main leader of the group was: Arya. This was neither a spoken nor written pact—it was just something they had agreed on mentally. Arya didn't even notice the position she carried, though Faolin did—and he willingly followed. Glenwing was rather busy doing his own thing, but he did maintain a level of consciousness that told him he was to take orders from Arya, since, after all, this whole entire thing was her idea.

"Brom," Arya greeted the man, touching two of her fingers to her lips as a sign of a salutation. At a look from Arya, both Faolin and Glenwing did the same.

Brom raised his eyebrows at the sign of Arya making silent orders to the two male elves; to him, it was immediately evident who had taken control of the group. Returning the greeting, he turned to Arya and began to start out with business.

"So, Arya Drottingu, we meet again," he said simply, eyeing her with a look of appraisal.

"Indeed," she answered, then stopped there, seeing it fit to let Brom do most of the talking—since he, after all, knew more about the resistance than she did.

"And I am assuming that you are here for the purpose of taking up my offer of a representative of the elves?" Brom questioned. When Arya nodded, his eyes flickered to the two male elves behind her. "And I see that you have brought along yet another friend with you?"

"His name is Glenwing," Arya said, gesturing toward the elf that was currently looking at Brom with an appearance of intense curiosity.

"So clumsy looking… so flimsy… Yet nicely built… Strange, very strange…" Glenwing muttered underneath his breath, continuously staring at Brom as if he had never seen a human before—and, indeed, Glenwing truly had never seen a human until now.

Arya turned to Brom feeling somewhat flustered. "I apologize, Brom, for his words," she sighed, giving a rueful shrug.

Brom chuckled as he looked at Glenwing. "No apologies needed, Arya. I suppose all elves are entitled to their own opinions to humans, as humans have already formed their own thoughts on elves," he answered.

"Are these two elves interested in the form of becoming delegates of your race as well?" Brom continued to ask, motioning to Faolin and Glenwing.

Faolin finally spoke up, clearing his throat. "No, Brom. We are here mainly for the sole purpose of escorting our princess wherever she may go. She is the main representative; we are simply her guard," he remarked. His words surprised Arya, but when she took them in, warmth flooded through her.

Her guard… Faolin had truly left Du Weldenvarden for the purpose of defending her while she chased her dreams. Glenwing, too, but Glenwing had already wished to depart from his home in search for something else. Faolin… she had never asked him if he would miss something back at home, if he would want to remain back there…

Not sure how to word her thoughts, she simply resigned herself to placing a hand on the male elf's arm. Somehow, that conveyed her message well enough, though Arya still wondered if Faolin realized the full extent of her contemplations.

No matter—she would make this all up to him somehow.

Brom seemed satisfied with Faolin's answer. "Very well, then. And now, if I may… There is a task that must be completed before missions may be planned out." With a nod from Arya, Brom went on. "The Varden is currently located in the Beor Mountains. We must travel there, then on to Farthen Dur, the tucked away city where the Varden resides."

Arya waited for Brom to say more, but he didn't. "Is that all?" she asked.

Brom smiled at the female elf's eagerness. "Ah, I wish I could say so for sure, but no. There are other challenges you must face before having the ability to qualify yourself for the role of ambassador… But it will all come in due time, princess. All in due time."


	12. Dances Through the Desert

**A/N;** Oh boy this is tough. Dx

I feel extremely stupid for trying to take this on. BUT… Now that I've started, might as well try to get to the end. =P

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The endless sand dunes rolled on and on, lacking any color besides their dull pale color. After a few days, Arya had gotten over her excitement of leaving Du Weldenvarden and had begun to wish for a splash of fresh green from a flower to meet her gaze, but all she ever saw was the pallid sand.

"Brom, may I make an inquiry?" Arya asked, trying to rid herself of the thoughts of boredom. Silently, she reprimanded herself for even beginning to think the slightest bit about being bored—_she_, out of all people, was leaving her home for the first time to become a _representative for her race_. If that was not good enough to have the term 'exciting' labeled on it… well, Arya did not quite know what was.

"Mmm?" was Brom's answer. Arya had noticed that with the passing of the days, Brom had seemed to tone down a bit, only speaking when necessary. Still, she thought nothing much of it as she proceeded to ask her question.

"Where were you during the Fall of the Riders?" she asked, tilting her head to the side so as to get a view of the human man seated on his horse. Though he managed to hide it considerably well, Arya still caught sight of Brom stiffening, and was instantly alarmed at this fact. She was even more startled at his answer, however.

"That, Arya Drottingu, is a story for another time," Brom stated shortly, clenching and unclenching his fists around the reins of his horse, which was a dry brown color, much different from the horses that carried the three elves—since, after all, Brom's horse was human bred.

Surprised at the change in Brom's formerly pleasant demeanor, Arya fell quiet, looking straight ahead—with the few added interruptions in her gaze as she stole a few glances in the direction of Brom.

Faolin, as well, seemed rather confused with Brom, though he also did not pursue any more questions. He seemed to resign well to his fate: simply following his princess, accompanied by a strange elf and a moody old man. Different from his dreams of glory when he was younger, but nonetheless true.

Glenwing, however, appeared undaunted by the turn of Brom's temperament. Contrary to the silence that befell the other three he was traveling with, Glenwing began humming quietly to himself. Sooner or later, however, this humming turned in to a full melody that Glenwing sung, his voice rising and falling with the notes that fell in line perfectly underneath his voice.

Arya's reaction to this was one of her rare, full smiles. Even though she did not speak aloud, she was sure that the smile on her face told the others what she thought about Glenwing's singing. It truly was enchanting; it was like a substitute to the pure voices of the birds in the forest.

Glenwing's expression changed to one of pure delight as his face was lightened with a grin, a grin that was similar to the one on Faolin's face as well. Only Brom remained the way he was, stolid and emotionless, his only movement the even breathing in his chest, as well as the rise and fall of his frame as the horse underneath him moved at a brisk pace.

After a while of riding, and when Glenwing's throat tired of singing, the four of them halted and made camp. Fire was no problem for them as the elves all beheld knowledge of magic, and even Brom proved to know quite a bit. The real nuisance, however, was the sand that endlessly got blown around by the harsh gust of winds that were infrequent during the day—though that had nothing to do with how hard the winds could hit when they did.

The four of them sat around the campfire, staring endlessly in to the flames that licked the desert floor. To those who were not familiar with the usage of magic, the fire would have proved quite the specimen, though it was normal to all of them.

They consumed a simple meal of dried fruits and vegetables along with bread—a meal that even Brom had. It was rather odd for Brom to do so, as he was human and most humans seemed to favor their meat… But Brom struck Arya as the type of person not classified underneath 'most humans,' so she was not particularly surprised.

After dinner, the four of them once more sat around the campfire, not moving or doing anything. Finally, Arya had had enough sitting still, even though she knew she had the ability to remain still for a good deal longer.

"Glenwing?" she asked, speaking to the dark-haired elf that was waving his finger in the air as if composing a new piece of music. She had to repeat his name a couple of more times, but she eventually got his attention. Once she did so, she went on to ask, "Would it be possible for you to offer more music?"

Glenwing's face suddenly darkened, and Arya frowned. Had she said something wrong?

"I am sorry, Arya, but I am not a pet lark. I cannot sing on command; I only do so when I feel the music within me," Glenwing answered in an apologetic tone, bowing his head.

Arya couldn't help but smile slightly at Glenwing's response. "That is all right, Glenwing," she murmured in a relatively soothing tone, touching his shoulder lightly.

"But," Glenwing suddenly said, jerking his head up. "There is music within." At this prospect, the male elf brightened and leapt up. He opened his mouth, and from it emitted a brilliant tune.

It was an upbeat sounding melody, and Arya felt somewhat compelled to dance, though she was not quite sure how to without appearing the part of a fool. Letting the music wash over her for a few moments, she decided to act on impulse.

Spreading her gaze across their small encampment, her eyes fell upon Brom, who was still icy in his demeanor. His arms were crossed, and he was still staring in to the flames.

She then glanced at Faolin, who was looking thoughtfully up at the sky, listening to Glenwing.

It was at that moment when she figured out who needed a bout of happiness the most.

Darting over to him in a matter of a few steps, Arya grasped Brom's hand firmly and pulled him after her as she led him in to some sort of dance that she came up with last minute. It was nothing serious, just a few gracefully made movements that Brom, in order to not fall flat on his face, was required to copy.

At this notion, Glenwing laughed like a child. It was that laugh that caused Arya to let go of Brom's hand and to execute a flurry of motions, twirling around and leaping about as she had done when she was younger. She knew that all three of her companions were looking at her, yet she didn't quite care.

Brom stared at Arya, raising his eyebrows in a manner of astonishment. He had never, ever since he had met her, thought that she was capable of such… such… _joy_. It was as if she were acting upon the instincts drawn from her childhood, and, in truth, Arya was. A sense of awe enveloped Brom as he watched Arya's figure dancing, her raven black hair billowing out behind her in graceful curtains. Her steps were carried out with such a feeling of eloquence that Brom found himself holding his breath.

Finally, Brom managed to regain control over his awestruck state. Moving his gaze, he focused on Faolin, who appeared as enthralled as Brom had felt. Studying the male elf carefully, Brom noticed a particular feeling radiating from Faolin. He picked it up from a few signs, but the one that gave the most away were the eyes. Silvery gray, they were—a cool color—yet they betrayed an enormous amount of emotion.

The most prominent emotion was one of longing fueled by what seemed to be a never-ending passion. Intrigued, Brom pressed further in his attempts to read what the male elf was thinking and feeling.

Faolin's slightly parted lips gave Brom the conception that the elf was suffering from a high level of enchantment—and Brom couldn't blame him.

Somehow, Brom got the idea that Faolin was experiencing one of the most excruciating pains of the heart possible: wanting someone who was futile to want.

_I can relate to that_, Brom thought to himself dejectedly, and he heaved a sigh that came out louder than he had wished for it to.

Hearing a sigh uttered from Brom, Arya immediately stopped to a halt with a final twirl. She raised her eyes, and after a matter of seconds, Faolin's gray gaze swept them up in to a head-on glance.

"Arya," Faolin choked out softly, and for those few instants, nothing else mattered. The world itself seemed to have stopped, frozen in time. All that hung in the air was the sound of his voice saying Arya's name, and all that truly concerned him was trying to understand the depths of her viridian colored eyes.

Snapping back in to reality, Faolin noticed how close they were, their hands touching lightly.

Almost as if in a synchronized motion, both Faolin and Arya leapt apart from each other.

Awkwardly, Arya eased herself down on to the sandy ground, not daring to meet Faolin's eyes. Faolin followed Arya's motion of sitting down, though he continuously stole glances at her, hoping that she would look up. As he was shifting his gaze from her to another place once more, he by accident met Brom's intense look of sternness. Wincing, Faolin looked away.

Glenwing appeared unperturbed about the whole entire thing, though it could not be known for sure what the elf was thinking to himself.

After a few moments of silence—as Glenwing, too, had fallen quiet—Glenwing began to sing once more.

A plaintive, melancholy melody rose up over the desert plains.


	13. Leading With the Heart

**A/N;** Hello, hello.

So, right now, I'm watching an episode of Paris Hilton's My New BFF online. I may not like Paris Hilton very much, but the show sure is entertaining. xP

In it's own way, pshh…

So! Uhh… I'm taking one of my reviewer's idea and putting it in to this chapter. Thank you very much to my reviewers. ^^

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The days droned on and on, the minutes and hours passing slowly. The scenery did not waver in its appearance—it was simply sand dunes after more sand dunes. If Brom had not been guiding them, Arya knew that they would all be terribly lost.

"Are we there yet?" Glenwing muttered underneath his breath, impatiently drumming his fingers against the thick base of his mount's neck. His question went unanswered, as both Faolin and Arya had absolutely no idea, and Brom seemed a little preoccupied.

"The good thing about crossing the desert is that the hoof prints from the horses will be blown away by the sand…" Brom mumbled. He looked over his shoulder behind him, where, indeed, the tracks of the horses had been erased.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Arya asked, knowing that she wouldn't necessarily get a straight answer to her question. Still, it didn't hurt to ask.

To her credit, Arya managed to get a response. "We've been traveling at a steady pace for some days now, almost a week. At this rate, we'll get to the foothills of the Beor Mountains in two or three more days," Brom answered. Though his voice was dull, it still sufficed as a decent answer.

Arya nodded, and felt a sense of relief. In approximately two more days, they would finally be nearing their destination: the Varden—and not a moment too soon, either. Even for Arya, the scenery needed a change, and she would welcome anything—even large mountains looming overhead—that could change what she saw.

The air was heavy, and bore down like a heavy blanket, making it difficult to do much without sweating. The breath of their mounts was labored, and all were in no mood for conversation. If Brom's words didn't turn out to be true, their moral would at, at a steady swiftly, deteriorate.

The trouble with traveling through the desert with the same other three companions, Arya discovered, was that you could not hide from those you wished to hide from. You were forced to deal with them on a daily—sometimes even hourly—basis. She was tired of putting on a show of formality whenever she interacted with Faolin, though she did not know what to do otherwise.

Frankly, it was tiresome, and Arya did not know how to fix it. She stole yet another glance at the elf, whose jaw was tight and his body held in a rigid manner that suggested a large amount of tenseness. Exhaling deeply, Arya resisted the urge to steer her amount alongside him and to touch his arm in a gesture of concern.

Because, of course, she knew exactly what was wrong.

"We should make camp," Brom stated from behind, and Arya looked back at him. Brom pointed to the sky, and Arya saw that the twilight hours were setting upon them quickly. Nodding, she halted her horse, and her companions did the same. Dismounting in a single, fluid movement, she took a couple of steps in order to rid herself of a number of cramps that had worked their way through her limbs during riding.

A gentle fire was soon in creation as they settled in for that night. When Glenwing was taking out their rations of dried fruits and vegetables, however, Brom looked up. "Glenwing," he began, his eyes traveling over to Faolin and Arya who were both standing a number of paces away from each other, warily watching the flames. "What do you say in coming with me to try to see what rascals run around in the desert? I've been wishing for the taste of meat…"

At this proclamation, all three elves looked at Brom strangely. During their trip, Brom had never seemed to like meat, nor had he even had the inclination to hunt during this whole time. Then again, the desert _was_ relatively sparse when it came to animals. Brom knew this was so, and he had no intention of hunting—he had given meat up a long while ago, for reasons he had not shared with the elves just yet.

Glenwing threw a glance toward Faolin and Arya and then shrugged as he got to his feet. "As you wish," the elf answered dutifully, picking up his bow. Brom was about to protest, but then realized that it would seem rather suspicious if he didn't allow the elf to bring his bow along.

Brom began walking away from the camp, and as he looked over his shoulder, he saw Arya glaring at him. "You cannot kill me with the daggers from your eyes, Arya!" he called over his shoulder, a grin on his face. Before he could hear any retaliation coming from her, he pulled in to a sprint, which Glenwing matched pace with quite easily.

_Well, well, well._ Arya thought to herself with an inward groan. _It is most certainly going to be a long, long night._

Once again, Arya glanced at Faolin, and to her surprise, she met his gaze full on. A flush spread through both elves' cheeks, and they looked away quickly. Putting a hand to her face, Arya tried covering up her embarrassment with a nonchalant look at the scenery around her. Faolin kicked the sand with his boot-clad foot, and pursed his lips.

By the time the thought occurred to Faolin that he could have followed the 'hunters,' both Glenwing and Brom were already gone from sight, disappearing in to the shadows. Though he could try to track them down right now, it just didn't feel right leaving Arya by herself, even if he wasn't quite on speaking terms with her.

To Faolin's surprise, however, Arya spoke. "So," she uttered shortly, not looking at him. Maybe it wasn't much—but it was something.

"Arya," Faolin murmured. He stood up and seated himself next to her. He could sense her discomfort, but he paid no attention. His thoughts were mixed, making it difficult for him to discern from them what to do next. It was at that point when Faolin decided something.

He would abandon caution to the winds; this night, this very night, he would lead his words with his heart.

"Arya Drottingu," he whispered, bringing his lips to her ear.

Arya's breath caught in her throat, and she remained completely still. She opened her mouth to say something, but Faolin put a restraining hand on her arm.

"Please, hear me out, Arya," the male elf murmured. "I have kept this secret for far too long, and I do not know how else to say it except to say it outright."

His words whispered in to her ear, causing a chill to run down her spine. Closing her eyes, Arya mentally begged her sanity to stay with her through this moment, though things were looking bleak for that hope.

Faolin's voice was tender as he continued. "Arya, I…" He faltered here for a moment before continuing on slowly. "I—"

A harsh battle cry sounding through the plains interrupted Faolin's confession.

As if awakening from a trance, Arya immediately leapt up, her hand grabbing her bow and quiver, which was never far from her side. In a matter of seconds, Arya was darting toward the source of the noise, not bothering to see if Faolin was behind her.

Arya didn't know how long she ran through the night—she just knew that she was going somewhere, running somewhere. The protective side of her had been activated when she had heard the cry, and now it was steering her to go did what she did best: protect others.

Though the desert sand masked the sound of footfalls, Arya sensed the presence of Faolin running behind, gaining on her. Not wishing to put herself in another uncomfortable position, she increased her speed, pushing herself even further.

Eventually, Arya stumbled upon a battle scene, with Faolin just a few steps behind her.

Brom and Glenwing were currently in the process of fending off a large creature, a creature that Arya had never before seen in her life. She stared at the animal—or was it an animal? The… the… _thing_ was human, yet not human. It was hard to determine what the creature looked at beyond the fact that it was hooded and dressed in all black. When it threw its head back, Arya saw a glimpse of a beak where the moonlight hit.

A shriek was uttered from the creature, and Arya winced at the grating sound.

The female elf saw Faolin draw up beside her, and for a split second, she couldn't think. Her mind was occupied with thoughts of Faolin, and nothing else. Biting her lip, she shook her head, earning her a strange look from the elf himself.

Finally, she managed to get a grip on herself. Narrowing her eyes, she examined the situation that Brom and Glenwing were in. In truth, they seemed to be fending well on their own—but due to the beads of sweat already collecting on Brom's forehead, Arya was forced to deduce that he was tiring at a much quicker rate than the creature was. A sense of admiration filled Arya as she watched Brom with his sword, evading and jabbing where he saw fit.

Glenwing, however, was circling around the fighting duo, a look of the utmost concentration on his face. Arya did not envy his position—he was being forced to try to aim an arrow that would accurately hit only the creature, not Brom—a difficult task, due to the fact that Brom and the animal were still going at it as avidly as ever.

Calculating, Arya soon realized the fact that neither she nor Faolin would be able to near the fighting pair from the side without being cut to ribbons. Stepping back, she drew close to Faolin, and forgetting about what had commenced between them, she murmured in his ear, "Join Glenwing's ranks—keep your arrows aimed toward the creature in case he escapes from both me and Brom." Faolin nodded and slipped in to the shadows, reappearing next to Glenwing.

Taking a couple of steps back, Arya inhaled deeply to clear her mind. Knowing full well that her idea would not necessarily work, she ran forward, accelerating. At approximately five paces away from Brom and the creature, she sprang up in to the air, executing a rather graceful twist, although she knew she could do the same thing without the added flourish.

With the utmost precision, Arya landed atop the creature. She wobbled slightly and nearly fell off, but she forced herself to remain calm and to balance. In a matter of seconds, she jumped up slightly and swiftly kicked the creature in the head. Despite the fact that it was not a deathblow, it did allow for enough of a diversion for Brom to quickly thrust his sword forward. The creature shrieked in pain and stumbled back.

Arya dropped to the ground, breaking her fall with a roll. Whipping her head around to Glenwing and Faolin, the only notion that was in her head was the loud, harsh beating of her heart.

Even as the human-like animal tried to turn around and run, two arrows elegantly swept through the air, hitting with exact precision. One more shriek, then all was silent.

Brom stumbled for a second and then righted himself. He was panting heavily, and Arya could see that he was exhausted. Faolin and Glenwing saw this too, and all three elves rushed to the human. Blood fell freely from Brom's right side, and Arya set herself to staunching the flow and healing the wound with a few muttered words of magic.

It was at that moment when she was healing Brom through magic that a thought occurred to her. "For goodness sake, why didn't you use magic?" Arya cried out, glaring at both Glenwing and Brom at once.

"I… could…" Brom's response was rather ragged, as he was still suffering from fatigue. "…ask the same of you, Arya…"

"Aye, Arya, I believe that both Brom and Glenwing are in need of a good deal of rest," Faolin put in before Arya could summon an answer. Though frustrated, Arya gave a nod and compiled, lending Brom her support as the four of them labored back to the camp.

Once they were all around the campfire and all wounds were tended to, both Brom and Glenwing fell asleep as soon as their heads touched the surface of their packs.

Arya once again raised her head, and met Faolin's gaze.

"So," he said.


	14. The Bliss of Now

**A/N;** Hmm…

I actually really liked the last chapter. I'm pretty proud of it. =P

Especially that scene between Faolin and Arya.

-feelscoolbeans-

But, anyway… Onward! ^^

-----

In the morning, Arya had to admit: she was tired. She and Faolin had stayed up long in to the night, talking about careless trifles. It was a lighthearted conversation, nothing too serious. She had a sneaking suspicion, however, that it _might_ have turned in to more of a conversation…

…If she hadn't fallen asleep.

"Brom, may I ask a question?" Arya asked, still staring straight ahead of her.

Brom chuckled. "You are full of questions, Arya, though I believe that may be a good thing," he said.

Taking that as a 'yes,' Arya continued with her inquiry. "What was that _thing_ yesterday?" she asked, as she had just comprehended the fact that she hadn't taken a look at the fallen body.

Brom's face darkened. "That was just one of the very many Ra'zac that run around destroying, torturing, and killing," he answered, pressing his lips in to a firm line of sternness that told Arya that he obviously did not like these Ra'zac one bit.

"What are they?" Glenwing asked from behind.

Heaving a sigh, Brom looked rather unhappy, but did not deny them the answer. "In truth, it is hard to explain. They are human looking on the outside, and with their cloak and hood, they can almost pass as a human, for that matter. Still, they are not close to human—they are monsters that bear no resemblance to any other creature known to walk Alagaesia. They cannot use magic, but they are extremely strong—as you saw last night.

"The Ra'zac are not complete barbarians, however. They bear the ability to breed, though that causes us much trouble. The fact that only one of them was wandering around by itself… That raises questions in my mind, and I suggest that we continue on to the Beor Mountains with much haste." Brom finished his explanation, and as if in compilation with his words, he nudged his mount to a slightly faster pace.

Even though Brom's description of the Ra'zac was obviously a short version, Arya still felt an unpleasant feeling of discomfort. She looked over to Glenwing and Faolin and saw that both elves were also having conflicts about this as well.

"Are you meaning to suggest, Brom, that there may be others of the Ra'zac nearby?" Faolin asked, his voice tight.

"Though it pains and frightens me to say so, I cannot say for sure that that was the only Ra'zac in the area. There may be more, there may not be more. I cannot say," Brom answered, knowing full well that his response was quite unsatisfactory, not helping when it came to making any of them feel better or safer.

With just this knowledge, all of them rode hard and fast, hoping to remain out of line of sight of any of the Ra'zac, if they were around. Arya made sure to always keep her eyes trained in front of her in order to catch sight of one of the creatures if they happened to be hungry for death.

The four of them agreed that if there was a threat of Ra'zac in the area, no more 'hunting' expeditions could be conducted. Secretly, Arya was a little disappointed, but she let no one know, as she was relatively relieved about this agreement as well.

Even though Faolin had failed to get all of his words out on that night, he still remained just as bold, riding next to Arya as they continued their trek to the Beor Mountains. On times when they slowed down to a slower gait in order to cool their mounts down a little, Faolin would often strike up a conversation with Arya. Once again, the words shared between the two were neither intimate nor harsh—simply pleasantries exchanged.

Glenwing and Brom rode behind, talking as well, though they would often steal a glance at the pair riding in front of them. Through this manner, it turned out that Glenwing and Brom grew close, and soon the two could be considered the best of companions. Both enjoyed each other's personalities, as both of them were considered odd by the standards of their race.

With talk, the time seemed to fly by, and it wasn't long before the foothills of the Beor Mountains came in to view. Stopping her mount, Arya stared up, awe written on every inch of her face. "They're so big," she murmured softly. "If the race of the elves could lay eyes on these mountains… they would be writing poetry and composing music nonstop in order to try to capture the essence of all of this…"

As if on cue, Glenwing opened his mouth and from it floated a melody, loud and boisterous and proud—the type of melody that seemed to fit the mountain in its impressive state.

"How much longer?" Faolin asked, wondering how far the Varden's camp was in the mountains. He had to admit—it was a good hiding spot, as one who attempted to wander through these mountains would most likely only find death awaiting them.

A thoughtful look crossed Brom's face at the prospect of finally returning back to the Varden. "Not too long. If I were to make an estimate, I would say around another three to six days, depending on how well the horses can handle this terrain."

"Not a problem!" Glenwing called out with a grin and then proceeded to sing again. It seemed somehow that his melody heartened his mount's step, producing a more lively horse. Arya couldn't help but smile as she looked on ahead as the mountains steadily grew bigger and bigger as they neared the expanse. A sense of doubt overwhelmed Arya over the fact if they would truly be able to cross the mountains, but she pushed those thoughts away, not wanting to think of thoughts that would jinx what was coming.

Once at the direct base of the mountains, the group settled down for the night. Finishing her meal, Arya curled up and fell asleep at a rapid rate, soon followed by Glenwing who seemed to always manage falling asleep quite easily. Both Faolin and Brom, however, remained awake.

Faolin watched Arya sleeping, a smile playing on his lips as he watched the graceful rise and fall of her figure as she breathed in and out evenly. Brom observed Faolin and gave his own wry smile. "You fancy her a great deal, do you not?" Brom asked.

The elf turned to look at Brom. "You have no idea," Faolin whispered, his demeanor suddenly turning solemn, catching Brom off guard. "I have always had a place in my heart for her," he added. "Even as a child. No, back then I did not feel this way, but I still cared for her deeply, and that, at least, has still not changed within me—which, to me, sets the very fine line between lust and love."

"And in your case, it is love," Brom remarked, staring at Faolin intently as he easily picked the truth out.

"Yes," Faolin answered weakly, looking away from the man. It was surprising that Brom knew so much about this topic; Faolin would have suspected the man to be ignorant about the whole entire thing, since, after all, Brom did have the habit of not being very amiable at times. Still, Faolin had to admit that he was glad for Brom's steady presence. By now, Faolin had learned to always listen to Brom, even when Brom's orders were something that seemed ridiculous.

The moon shone brightly, a pure white pearl inhabiting the midnight blue sky full of twinkling stars that surrounded it. Behind them, the sands of the desert were whipped around by gusts of wind that passed through. In front of them, the mountains stood, proud and every inch strong.

Faolin gazed up at the night sky, filling his silvery gray eyes with the image of stars, some of which were the exact same color as his eyes. Brom, seeing this, did the same. Together, the two of them, as companions, watched, waited, and listened. For what, both of them did not know—but it was a good kind of not knowing.

Sooner or later, exhaustion finally got the better of both men. A yawn emitted from Faolin's mouth, and that broke the concentration of both him and Brom. Preparing for bed, Faolin lay down next to Arya while Brom took his own space.

Brom fell asleep promptly, but Faolin remained awake a little while longer, still staring up at the sky—even though he was tired. Finally drawing his eyes away from their starry gaze, he brought them back down to earth to face an equally beautiful sight. Shadows threw themselves across Arya's face, giving her somewhat of an ethereal appearance. Her dark hair spilled out from behind her on to the ground in a sea of ebony. Her eyes, closed over the expanse of bright green that Faolin knew lay underneath, appeared the exact image of peacefulness.

Faolin let out a gentle sigh. Shyly, he reached out an arm, tentatively wrapping it around Arya's waist. The female elf shifted slightly in her sleep, but otherwise made no move. Breathing a sigh of relief, Faolin fell asleep, not bothering to think of any consequences that would happen tomorrow when they both woke up. He was indulging in the bliss of now. Right now, at this moment, he was thinking with his heart—and that was all that mattered.


	15. Kisses and Gloves

**A/N; **-squeaks-

So. How are we all doing today? (: Well, I hope!

So, uh, I guess that we're just going to jump in to this today! 8D

-----

The crisp, golden rays of dawn fluttered through the mountain peaks, casting shadows everywhere. The sky paled, and was a mixture of pinks, reds, and blues, so skillfully blended by Mother Nature that it would take a truly skillful artist to capture the entirety of the beauty. A breeze brushed through, and as it began pulling away from where the four campers lay, one of the four began to stir.

Though it was a chilly morning, warmth radiated from all around her, and it took her a moment to figure out exactly why she was so warm. When she realized the reason, her eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat once more.

"Faolin," she hissed, shifting slightly. She was about to sit up, but something in her somehow thought that it felt… _nice_ to be in Faolin's grasp. It took a good deal of willpower for her to not snuggle in deeper.

Faolin was a surprisingly light sleeper. At the first mention of his name, the expanse of his gray eyes opened, and Arya faltered for a moment as she caught the color of them. Taking a breath to steady herself, she opened her mouth to protest his hold on her, but then found that the words wouldn't come.

Instead, Arya closed her eyes…

…And moved in closer to Faolin.

She felt him stiffen for a moment in surprise, but then he melted in to the pose, his arm pulling her in even tighter.

The full sunrise found the two of them still like this, their eyes closed, relishing in the simplicity of the moment. It would have lasted longer if it hadn't been for Brom's eagerness to return back to the Varden.

The human woke up feeling rather energetic and leapt up, gazing over his companions. Glenwing was already up and milling about, and Brom now felt compelled to go wake Faolin and Arya up. When he tread up to them, he saw them together. At this scene, Brom swiftly cut off the thoughts that threatened to flow through his mind about his own life. Instead, he put on a grin and rudely shook both awake. "Morning, lovebirds," he greeted before stepping back and surveying his work at waking the two up.

"Just a little longer?" Arya muttered. "It's warm right here…"

Then the entirety of the situation struck her. She sat up quickly, tearing herself from Faolin's hold. A scarlet blush that would have made a sunset jealous spread its way through Arya's face, something quite unusual.

"I—ah… Good morning, Brom," she said and took a couple of paces over to Glenwing, turning her back on Brom and Faolin and striking up an awkward conversation with the other elf.

Brom took a step and leaned over Faolin who was staring up at the sky with a dreamy expression on his face. "Wake up, boy!" Brom barked, giving Faolin a light slap on the cheek. "The Varden's awaiting! You'll have plenty of time to fawn over your elf princess while we go through the mountains—the mountain air's good for the brain."

_That's odd_, Brom thought to himself with a grin. _I never thought that when I actually made this trip, I would be calling an elf a boy…_

After the breakfast, the regular preparations to take off were made. Packs were repacked, the fire was doused, and mounts were saddled. Arya was in the process of saddling her mount when Faolin intervened, wrapping both his arms around her waist—certainly a most bold maneuver.

Arya stopped her actions and gave a sigh. "Faolin—" she muttered warily as she turned her head to reprimand him.

She never got the chance, for when she turned her head, her lips met with Faolin's almost instantaneously.

This exchange lasted only momentarily, and Faolin didn't bother to see the aftereffects, for he withdrew his hold on Arya and proceeded to turn to his own mount, beginning the process of tacking up.

Arya placed a hand to her lips. There was a tingle passing through them, strange yet pleasant. She threw a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the elf and then turned back to what she was doing. Sneaking a glance at Brom and Glenwing, she was glad to see that neither of them had seen what had just occurred.

"So, shall we head off in to the mountains now?" Brom asked loudly, startling Arya from her thoughts. At a nod from her and the other two elves, Brom began leading the way through the mountains with Glenwing next to him. Arya was surprised at the change of order, but then resigned herself to staying in the back.

With Faolin.

As she rode on, she attempted to sort through her emotions for Faolin. Thankfully, the male elf understood the fact that she was in need of a little time to herself, without having to be told.

She knew for sure without a doubt that she cared for Faolin: she would be lost without him. Yet, she wasn't quite sure if what she truly felt for him was truly love or if it was just a deeper point of her understanding of him.

Arya bit her lip as she tried to comprehend everything—but it was all to no avail. She took a quick glance around her at the scenery in order to clear her mind—in order to calm her nerves.

"Faolin?" she asked, not quite of her own accord. It was simply what her heart was telling her to do, and she had no control over it whatsoever. This fact scared her—it scared her beyond belief. She was used to leading with her mind, leading with logic. This—she didn't know what this was.

"Mmm?" Faolin answered casually, still looking ahead.

"Look at me and tell me what you were trying to say that night with the Ra'zac," Arya remarked, peering at him intently and willing him to do what she said, though she knew she had no say in what he would give as his response.

"Do you really want me to?" Faolin asked, turning his head and meeting Arya's gaze. "Do you, Arya Drottingu, truly and honestly wish for me to repeat what I was meaning to say that night?"

Arya bit her lip. "I think so," she murmured.

"But do you wish for it?"

"Yes." Arya did not know exactly where she had summoned up the courage to say so, but it had just come out.

"I love you."

Arya stared dumbly and mutely at Faolin after he had uttered the three, short, simple words that meant so much. She had expected from Faolin at least an intro to what he was going to say—but no, he had put it so bluntly and in such a voice that contained such emotion that Arya made a decision. She knew that once she voiced it aloud, she would never be able to turn back—but so be it.

"I—I love you too," she stated, her voice shaking at first but then gaining strength as she continued. "I think, Faolin, that I have loved you for a very long time, probably since our days running through Du Weldenvarden—but back then, I loved you in a different sense. Now…" Arya trailed off here, casting her eyes downward.

"Now, things are different," Faolin finished for her softly. He angled his mount so that they now rode alongside. Reaching out, he touched her face and leaning over, gently left a kiss on her cheek, much different from their earlier kiss, which had been full of ardor and fervor on Faolin's part.

The rest of their ride consisted of exchanging shy smiles and glances, as if they were children batting their eyelashes at one another. Brom and Glenwing were ahead of them a considerable amount, though their voices were raised in a heated discussion—about what, however, Arya did not quite know, though she felt as if she should be learning something dealing with politics instead of lagging behind with Faolin—though she was not complaining.

There was no obvious path through the mountains, but Brom seemed to know where he was going. The three elves knew that without Brom, they would have most likely spent endless amounts of time all to no avail.

That evening while camping in the mountains, Arya observed Brom with a critical eye, thoughts coming to her mind. She watched Brom's hands, and saw that they were always in motion, whether it was drumming his fingers on a hard surface or clenching and unclenching—they were always doing something. As she came to this realization, she also saw that Brom was wearing gloves, and even though they looked rather worn, he did not take them off—even when they sometimes got in the way of various tasks.

"Brom," Arya inquired, knowing full well that she might get a scolding for her question. "Why do you wear gloves all the time? Do they not get in the way of your duties?"

"Most people like me wear gloves whenever associating with those who do not know the secrets," Brom said absent-mindedly, tapping his foot on the ground as he stared off in to more of the mountains.

Arya's brow furrowed at this answer. "People like you? Brom, what do you mean?"

Brom's head jolted to face her. "Nothing," he said, although he said it a little too quickly than what was classified as normal for Arya. Exchanging glances with Faolin, she said no more, though she had to admit that her curiosity was raised.

A wind rushed through the bare surface of the mountain, serving as a cold enough of a draft to cause them to huddle together around the fire even more. Arya looked at Brom. She saw the flames reflecting in his brown eyes and nothing more—his eyes, and his complete face for that matter, betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

It was at that point when Arya decided to do something she had never thought about doing with Brom. Tapping deep in to her own consciousness, she attempted to enter Brom's mind—only to be rudely stopped by an iron wall of defenses in his mind. She tried to breach these walls, but had no success. Surprised, the female elf pulled her mind away from Brom's and with a puzzled look, continued trying to discern information from Brom.

"It will not work, Arya. I have had much training in the past that helps me when it comes my mind," Brom said, his voice empty. With that, he lay on the ground and promptly fell asleep, leaving a mystified Faolin and Arya to sit together while an unperturbed Glenwing hummed a little melody to himself.

When both Faolin and Arya shot questioning looks at Glenwing, since they both knew that out of all of them, he was the closest to Brom, Glenwing simply gave a shrug. "Don't ask me," was all the elf said before losing himself to stargazing.

Arya sighed with exasperation, but decided to not pursue the topic any further—at least for the moment. Feeling rather drowsy, she closed her eyes and soon found herself swept in to Faolin's grasp. Relaxing in to it almost immediately, she leaned her head on his shoulder. This feeling was unknown to her, but it was intoxicating.

_I could stay this way forever, couldn't I?_ Arya thought to herself, this thought kissing a smile on to her lips. She answered her own question after a few moments.

_Yes. Yes I could._


	16. Blushes and Impudence

**A/N; **Woo! Story time. ;D

Note that because I do not have Eragon the book with me, I'm at utter loss for how getting in to the Varden works… Bah.

And oh baby… o.o Was the Isidar Mithrim on the floor of Tronjheim… or was it on the ceiling?! *confused*

Bah, anyway… This chapter is kind of boring, to tell the truth… But I guess I kind of have to put it in order for this all to make sense.

-----

"Almost there!" Brom called over his shoulder, and a grin inhabited the features on his face largely, as if he were a young child. Arya couldn't help but smile as she saw this, and she followed Brom's guidance willingly.

As she thought over the sudden prospect of finally reaching their destination of the Varden, nervous thoughts began to creep over Arya. "Brom," she said, addressing the human when she neared close enough for him to hear her.

"Mmm?" was Brom's response, not slowing down the brisk speed they were going at. His eagerness to return back to the Varden was quite evident.

"Who founded the Varden?" Arya asked. It was just a simple start to all the questions she had, and she might as well start at the beginning of her large list.

"Brom did!" Glenwing exclaimed cheerily.

"Indeed?" Arya asked, furrowing her brow. Then again, it wasn't too strange of a thought—Brom proved himself to be a good and levelheaded leader, if a little eccentric. "And, Brom, another question—"

"Not just yet, Arya," Brom interrupted, his voice steadily gaining a sense of seriousness. He halted his horse and gave a deep sigh, looking up. Arya followed his gaze, but only saw a large slab of mountain right in front of them, barring their way from going anywhere else except back, or in to little crevices.

Brom dismounted from his mount, and to the perplexed glances of the three elves still on horseback behind him, walked up to the side of the mountain. They watched as Brom tapped the stone a few times before muttering something unintelligible to them all, for he said it with the utmost care and quietness.

Arya watched with amazement as a silent split coursed through the rocks like a vein. She took a quick peek at the expressions of Faolin and Glenwing and saw that both elves were as equally awed with this as she was—and that was something. It wasn't everyday that an _elf_ was amazed by something outside of their forests.

"How…?" Faolin murmured, trailing off in a questioning tone as he stared. Glenwing made no audible reaction to seeing this change of the rock, but his mouth hung open in an 'o' shape.

"Come," Brom said, gesturing for them to follow in to the decent sized hole left behind by the cracking of the rock. As Brom's figure eventually began disappearing in to the shadows, Arya and her two companions began following hesitantly.

Torches lining the walls gave light, which Arya knew to be thankful for, as the hole behind them had sealed up—most likely to fend off any intruders. As their mounts ambled on at a slow pace, Arya looked around, surprised to see that this tunnel was not as crudely made as she had thought; no, instead, it bore intricate designs etched in to the side.

Strange—who had enough time to carve in to _rock_ when singing things in to shape was possible?

Eyeing these decorations on the wall with the utmost critical eye, Glenwing suddenly clapped his hands in delight, startling all of them with the loud resounding noise that echoed through the tunnel. "It's brilliant!" the elf exclaimed brightly. "It's beautiful! Magnificent! Astonishing!"

"What on earth are you going on about?" Faolin grumbled, evidently not liking the fact that they were now enclosed from the rest of the world. Frankly, Arya had to agree with him.

"Just look at the masterful designs in the wall! How intricately engraved in to the rock! Oh, to think what tools used to perform such tedious tasks!" A wondrously bright smile lit Glenwing's face as he reached out tentatively to brush the walls with his hand.

Brom chuckled and shook his head, grinning all the while as Glenwing continued on bantering about the artwork performed on the walls of the cave. Once Glenwing paused to take a breath, Brom immediately jumped in to fill the silence and to perhaps answer any unanswered questions. "These tunnels were made by dwarves," he stated, simply feeding them a little piece of information.

"Dwarves?" Arya asked incredulously, suddenly mystified. "Dwarves exist?"

Brom frowned. "Of course," was all he said, shrugging as if it were the most normal thing in the world to proclaim to an elf that had been cut off from the rest of the world that dwarves existed.

"Prove it," Faolin put in, narrowing his eyes in disbelief.

"I will once we make our presence known to Deynor," Brom responded, his words growing more and more strained as they neared the end of the tunnel. To Arya, Brom seemed a little uncomfortable, though she couldn't quite put a finger on it. Though she wanted to, she knew better than to ask Brom outright.

"Deynor?" Glenwing asked, drawing out of his amazement long enough to ask this question.

"Deynor. The leader of the Varden," Brom replied.

"But I thought that you were…?"

"The _founder_ of the Varden only, mind you. I do not lead."

"But why not?"

"I do not lead."

With that, Brom refused to answer any more questions, simply leading them all toward the end of the tunnel with a stoic expression locked firmly in to his face. Eventually, they made it out of the tunnel, and once they stepped in to the room at the end, the elves immediately found themselves astounded once more.

The area was large, large enough that Arya could not, at first, think of a proper ratio in order to compare its size to something else familiar to her. All she knew that it was big—and drafty. Looking up, she saw the reason why: high above, there was no ceiling. From what she saw, there was a tarp that could be pulled over, but nothing more.

As she gradually began to look around the rest of the place, she saw that large sections of the area were separated from one another by more tarps, giving the place the rough appearance of a coop.

"This is where," Brom began in a melancholy tone so sad that Arya threw him a worried glance. "This is where the dragons of Dragon Riders would sleep, often accompanied with their Rider."

Arya flinched at the mention of the Dragon Riders, though she was not sure. Briefly, her eyes skirted Brom's gloved hands clutching his mount's reins, but something caught her eye. As she began to realize the bright color that she saw was spread across the whole entire form, a gasp found its way to her lips.

The entire floor stared up at the sky overhead with a defiant, beautiful, and bright crimson red. At further inspection, Arya saw that this red was the coloring belonging to an intricately shaped flower—a rose, if she was not mistaken. "It's… stunning," she whispered.

Faolin and Glenwing had both seen the floor, and both were staring at it with awe. Despite his earlier reaction to the carvings on the wall, Glenwing remained absolutely quiet as he stared and stared, not quite getting his fill of the whole entire gem.

"The Isidar Mithrim, or the Star Rose," Brom explained. "And this is just one of the many halls of Tronjheim, the main inhabitance in Farthen Dur. Now, if we may continue on…"

Brom dismounted and led his horse carefully around the large gem, and proceeded to enter in to another pathway, beckoning for the elves to do the same. They did, and they followed him mutely, their eyes still lingering on the symmetrical shape of perfection that lay right before them.

"The elves have the ability to create something like this," Arya said, though there was no true feeling behind her words when she said this. In truth, she was at absolute loss words; what was there to say?

"If you are interested, Isidar Mithrim was created by a good number of the dwarves," Brom relayed, and Arya nodded. Honestly, she was not very surprised—from the careful work down in the tunnels, she had less doubt that they dwarves could come up with something like this, though it did seem like somewhat a stretch.

The three elves said nothing when Brom did not continue with his explanation, still not able to find words to describe the beauty they had just witnessed. Instead, they were content to ride along behind Brom, relishing the thought of the great gem in their own mind.

The gem was certainly a most… shiny object. At the prospect of shiny objects, the more feminine side of Arya came in to play, as thoughts began to cross her mind. She couldn't help it, but she did feel as if she were ready for a bath and for a change of clothes—and she truly would not mind a true bed to sleep on instead of the ground.

_Please, Arya. Get a grip on yourself. You don't need luxuries like that. They are nice—but that's why they're called luxuries_, she thought to herself, grimacing at the fact that she had even began thinking of such things.

"Deynor," Brom said, abruptly stopping.

Arya returned to her consciousness and saw that in front of their small party was a group of men dressed simply, but not poorly. The man she presumed was Deynor stepped forward and extended his hand to Brom, which Brom took after a moment's hesitation.

Observing Deynor, she saw that the man was well muscled and relatively handsome.

He certainly had the brawns; did he have the brains?

"Brom," Deynor greeted. From the sound of his voice, Arya saw that Deynor seemed more of the quiet type who thought things over—all the better. Sometimes, Arya knew, the best leaders were not always recognized as those who instantly leapt in to battle whenever impulse struck them.

Shifting her attention from Deynor as he and Brom began exchanging words, Arya observed the small squad of men that Deynor had brought along with him. Three of the four were staring at their leader intently as if taking in his every word, but the last one seemed preoccupied, looking somewhere else.

Looking at her. Looking her up and down.

As if she were a good that beheld a certain measure of rarity.

Indignation flashed with white-hot rage within Arya, and for a few fleeting moments, she thought of nothing but lunging for the man and teaching him a proper lesson. She managed to contain herself—but only barely.

The man saw her staring back at him, and mistaking it as a sign of coquettishness, gave her a wink.

Of all the impudence! Arya knew that she had never before, in her life, been treated like this—and the man wasn't even vocalizing anything, which frustrated Arya even more.

_Be a man and talk about it!_ Arya found herself thinking as she regarded him.

Faolin had been watching this silent conversation between Arya and the man in Deynor's company who very obviously was not paying attention to what his leader had to say.

This silent conversation angered Faolin. A lot.

Deciding that blood shed was not the proper answer, Faolin decided on another way. Stepping up behind Arya, he once again slid his arms around her waist. He heard Brom falter slightly in his vocalizations as he saw this action out of the corner of his eye, but if Faolin was not mistaken, a slight hint of a smile twitched at his companion's lips.

Arya tensed, but then relaxed as she realized what Faolin was trying to do. Sinking in to his arms as she had done before, she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. The moment was sweet, although it was interrupted by Deynor's polite cough and statement of, "Brom, please keep your companions at bay at this time."

Both Faolin and Arya blushed at this comment, and they pulled away from each other, though Faolin still kept an arm wrapped around Arya's waist.

Eyes flickering back to the man whose attention had strayed, both Faolin and Arya were pleased to see that he had a look of resentment on his face.

_Serves him right._


	17. Human Encounters

**A/N; **I had a really good day today. :) Just thought I'd share. x)

But, my good day has made me tired. Bah.

But not tired enough to attempt another chapter. ^^

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Arya found her quarters to be pleasant. Though they were nothing like the lavish furnishings offered to her back in Du Weldenvarden, she found them satisfactory to her simple tastes.

Her room consisted of a solitary bed fitted with clean sheets, a couple of chairs accompanied with carefully embroidered cushions, and a desk carved roughly yet elegantly. Atop the desk, Arya was delighted to see a few flowers; stems cleanly cut and dipped in a little vase. Just this little gesture made a sense of warmth fill Arya from head to toe, and though her face remained calm and placid, there was a sense of lightness and happiness to her movement.

It was such as simple thing—just a few flowers—yet Arya felt absolutely thrilled. As she thought over it, she had not seen a flower in a while; the only terrain she had crossed had been mostly bare of any vegetation.

As she inspected the flowers, she saw that two of them were alike, colored a rich shade of deep pink with graceful petals curving out from the golden center. A smile touched upon her lips as her eyes graced upon the third and last flower, this one standing out from the other two by quite a long shot.

This flower was the same flower that Faolin had made for her, during one of the long and warm lazy days of a summer solstice. Though Arya had kept a few of the blooms in her room back in Du Weldenvarden, the appearance of a single one of them now enthralled her just as much as ever. Her fingers lightly brushed the dark sable petals that encased a splash of royal blue coloring in the center. As she was gazing at the flower, a note left on the desk caught her eye.

The note contained just a few words written in neat script that contained many flourishes, but bestowed upon those words was enough to make Arya understand.

_Wiol ono._ _Faolin_.

For you. Faolin.

Leaning down, Arya brushed her lips against the flower and then proceeded to do the same to the note left for her. With that, she set to cleaning herself up. A tub of mildly hot water had been placed in the corner of her room, and she quickly situated herself there, scrubbing most of the dirt from her journey off of her. Once she was finished, she was glad to find a change of clothing laid out on her bed.

Though she did not quite agree to the clothing that they had chosen for her, she knew that it was either garbing herself in what was given to her, or wearing her traveling clothes. With a sigh, she resigned herself to slipping in to a soft, simple cotton dress. The material was not bad, and the deep, forest green color of it was rather nice—the thing that bothered her the most was the fact that it was a _dress_.

Securing the pale yellow sash that went along with the outfit, Arya strapped her sword on to it. Though the sash was not the equivalent to a sword belt, it still had a surprising amount of resistance to tearing, and for this, Arya was glad. She would not feel safe if she was not able to at least carry her sword.

With a final lingering look at her quarters, Arya stepped in to her boots and was gone from the room, closing the door behind her securely.

Arya's boots made a slight sound at every impact, her footsteps quick and light. Not quite knowing where she was going, she simply wandered about, a daydreaming look entering her eyes.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" a voice sneered, causing Arya a rude awakening from her contemplations and reasoning.

Arya wondered what she could give as a response. As she looked up, she stared in to a burly man who appeared clumsy and who had the appearance of someone who was a little too fond of their drink. "Hello," she answered in a tranquil voice, much in contrast to the man's boisterous words.

"Don't talk much, dearie, do you? Well, we can change that, can't we?" the man continued, throwing a sloppy grin on to his face.

At this moment, Arya thought that the man not only was too fond of his drink—but was also currently a little occupied with a drink.

The man took a step closer to Arya. "You're a mighty fine thing, yep, yesiree," he continued, obviously oblivious to Arya's extreme discomfort. Never before had she experienced something like this, meaning that she had no idea what to do as the man continued advancing on her.

"Excuse me, sir—" Arya began defiantly, but was then cut off as the man continued in his drunken stupor.

"Wouldn't mind a pretty little thing like you for some entertainment," he said. "Because, as you can see, the Varden's numbers are not increasing very quickly, and that means that we have less and less women joining our forces. Things have been _quite_ boring…" At this point, the man heaved a large sigh, getting himself carried away with he was saying.

As talk of 'entertainment' reached Arya's ears, her hands immediately flew to the hilt of her sword, ready to draw it in a matter of seconds and to deal a couple of death blows. Then again, it would not be right to kill this man—not if she was interested in negotiating with the Varden.

Still, she knew that this man had to be punished. "Sir, I am not a young, naïve girl who can so easily be forced in accomplishing a man's whim," she stated, raising her chin. _Even Islanzadí would be proud_, Arya found herself thinking.

"Oh, so you say, my dear," he growled in her ear, his hands grabbing her sides roughly.

Rage flashed through Arya, and without thinking, her hands flew up from her sword hilt and immediately dealt the man a slap straight on the face. She knew that it was not much, but in the man's state of clumsiness, it would prove to be good enough of a distraction.

Arya turned out to be right, and she was glad to see the man take a couple of large steps back, appearing dazed. Seeing a moment to free herself, she darted to the side, only to nearly run over Brom who had been walking nonchalantly through the area.

"Brom!"

"Arya?"

The simple exchange was enough, as Brom's eyes soon traveled to the figure of the man who was easily about twice the size of him when it came to body mass. To Arya's amazement, however, Brom did not let the man's size intimidate him.

"Enough, Ramrir," Brom told the man firmly.

Ramrir glared at Brom. "Would you be one to deny a soldier who fights against Galbatorix a bit of fun once in a while?" he asked, his tone of voice having a whining edge to it as he spoke.

Brom gave an exasperated sigh. "Ramrir, answer this question: is that the way you would speak in front of a princess?"

"A princess? I see no princess here."

"You were talking slander to one just right now." With that, Brom gestured toward Arya who was pretending to be interested in studying the ground.

"A princess, eh? Princess of _what_, may I ask?"

"The elves."

Ramrir stared at Brom, disbelief clearly marking his facial appearance. "Elves?" he asked, sobering from his former state.

"Elves."

Ramrir brought his gaze to look at Arya, and he saw for once her Elvin features—sharp features with delicately slanted ears and eyes. Arya thought for a moment that Ramrir was about to profusely apologize—but she was completely wrong. Instead, Ramrir turned his head and spat at the ground.

"Elves! Bah! Those no good cowards hiding deep in their forests while the humans and dwarves are actually trying to do something and attempting to undermine Galbatorix!" Ramrir retorted angrily. "Those traitors care only for themselves and are more interested in creating pretty little plants rather than assisting the resistance!"

Hearing these words, Arya felt as if she had just been slapped. Cowards? Traitors? Was that truly how the humans viewed the race of the elves? Biting her lip, Arya looked at Brom, waiting to see the human's reaction.

To her horror, Brom nodded as if agreeing with Ramrir.

"I can see, Ramrir, where you get your sense of frustration against the elves from. But mind you that the elves follow their queen no matter what, and if their queen forbids them to have interactions with the humans, then there is not much else they can do," he answered.

"Then what about _her_?" Ramrir snarled, pointing directly at Arya. "You said she was a princess. Should she not be following orders from her queen, therefore remaining back at where she came from?"

When Brom failed to come up with an answer that would both protect Arya's rough past with her mother and satisfy Ramrir, Ramrir threw his hands up in an irritated motion. "You see? I do not wish to have anything to do with this elf, mind you, and I would rather die before having to do work or take orders from this elf _princess_," he hissed. With that, Ramrir turned on his heel and left.

Arya was left rendered speechless as she stared after Ramrir's retreating figure. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Brom pressing a hand to his forehead and giving a sigh of vexation.

Seeing Arya looking at him, Brom gave the female elf a rueful shrug. "I am sorry, Arya," he murmured quietly before disappearing off as well, leaving Arya standing in the middle of the hallway.

Arya watched Brom's diminishing figure as well, then turned and fled in to her room. Barring the door to make sure that she would not be disturbed, she resisted the urge to fling herself on her bed and bawl. Instead, she drew the curtains covering the large bay window. Seating herself on the window seat, she allowed herself to be mentally drawn outside, where things had not changed much since her latest encounter with the human race.


	18. Chivalry

**A/N; **Ugh. I have a Spanish test, a Latin test, and an English quiz tomorrow.

Haha. Just test me on all my languages. Dx

BUT, as you can tell by this author's note… there is going to be another chapter coming!

And also, before I begin, I'd like to give a shout out to my reviewers. ^^ Thank you all!

Ugh. Just a warning. Boring chapter. x.x;

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Arya continued to remain locked in her room. When a few timid knocks were pressed upon her door, she ignored this and continued on with her thoughts. After a while, however, the knock returned back, this time with a sense of urgency.

Once more, Arya ignored it.

Then the third time, a fist pounded on her door with a large amount of force. Deciding that whoever this was was not going to accept the fact that maybe she was not in her room, Arya crossed the room in a few paces and swiftly opened the door.

"What is it?" she asked in an icy tone, before she managed to get the full image of whom she was talking to.

A small human boy stood there, peering up at her with a pair of deep brown eyes. His hands were busy playing with the hem of his tunic as he instantly shot his gaze down to the ground. Contrary to his impatient knocking, he now looked rather afraid in delivering his message.

"What is it?" Arya repeated in a softer tone, seeing that this boy was simply frightened of her. Her gaze softened as her tone did, and a maternal sense took over that made her want to ruffle the boy's messy brown hair. She resisted, however, as she was not accustomed to such… motherly thoughts.

"B-Brom want—_wishes_ you to accompany him in his… _discussion_ with Deynor," the boy stammered out. From his language, it was obvious that he was trying very hard to speak in a fancy tongue in order to make a good impression upon her. "And, my lady, I was told to lead you to where they are meeting, as Brom said you were not very well acquainted with the halls." As he continued speaking, the boy gained confidence, though he did not look her in the eyes again.

"Very well then," Arya answered, her gaze still raining down on the slip of a boy.

He shuffled his feet and began walking, with Arya tailing him quickly. The two passed the moments in silence. Arya did not mind this, and if the boy wanted to talk, she concluded that he could always speak first, even though it did not seem very likely.

After a while of walking, the two reached their destination. The grandeur that they had passed had not gone unnoticed to Arya; though this grandeur failed to impress her as she was an elf, even she had to admit that a good deal of hard work had been put in to forming the intricate designs lining everywhere.

While the two of them had been walking through the area, Arya had seen but a few inhabitants wandering about the area. Those she saw were all human, and they all either ignored her, or even worse, made rude gestures in her direction. Her hands twitched to brandish her sword to show them all a lesson, but she knew that she couldn't, not if she wanted to avoid a breach of peace. Instead, she hardened her heart and her mind from the accusing glances thrown her way once the Elvin characteristics that made her up were registered clearly.

A thought kindled in Arya's mind; how was Faolin fairing in this place? She knew that though he was an elf just like her, she herself did happen to have a slight ounce more of patience.

She was not quite as worried about Glenwing, as Glenwing had an uncanny habit of charming even the most scornful crowd, whether if it was with his personality alternating between bubbly and thoughtful or his beautiful singing voice.

"Lady, you can enter now," the boy said, finally looking up at her expectantly as he stood aside from the door, allowing her a space to make her entrance. He held Arya's gaze as she blinked at him in a bemused state for a few moments before finally understanding.

Arya nodded as she took a step forward to the doorway. Just as she was about to answer, she paused and looked over her shoulder where the boy was looking at her curiously. "Thank you…?" she remarked in a questioning tone.

"Loraes, lady," the boy supplied nervously. From the look on his face, Arya deduced that he was wondering why exactly one such as her would want to know his name.

"Thank you, Loraes," Arya told him, flashing him one of her rare smiles. She reached out and touched his shoulder lightly before withdrawing. Turning her back to Loraes, she entered the room without a second glance.

Loraes flushed a deep red before darting off, not quite sure if he had truly just come in contact with an elf or if he was just simply dreaming.

Arya swept in to the room with a manner of grace, holding a regal stance. Brom, who was standing in the room as well, looked up. A genuine smile inhabited the features of his face, and he beckoned for her to sit in a seat close to him and Deynor.

Though Arya advanced toward the chair, she did not sit in it. Instead, she shook her head, declining the seat, as she preferred to stand. "Brom, Deynor," she greeted, giving a nod to both men.

"Arya Drottingu," Deynor responded, standing up and offering a formal bow in honor of her.

A smile touched Arya's lips at the prospect of Deynor's politeness to address her by her Elvin title, but she knew that formalities were not needed. "Be seated, Deynor," she proclaimed. "You need not stand for me."

"Aye, but it is the simple rule of chivalry for a man to stand whenever receiving a woman—particularly a woman bearing a high standing," Deynor answered. Even though his words could be reformed to be said in a teasing voice, Deynor said this statement with a dead serious tone.

Brom cleared his throat in an attempt to skip pleasantries. Arya flashed him a knowing glance and then looked to Deynor.

"I am not here, however, to simply exchange words on chivalry," Arya said, her chin held high as she continued. "I am here, Deynor, leader of the Varden, to represent the race of the elves who have remained so withdrawn from this resistance. I have crossed the large expanse of a desert and through these tedious mountains to be here. I now ask you something. Though I know it is not a matter of simple permission, I must ask: would you as leader of the Varden willingly accept my help in retying the bond between the elves and humans?"

Deynor thought over this question for a moment. Arya found herself growing impatient, but then reminded herself that Deynor was the _leader_ of the Varden, and whatever he did would affect the whole entire resistance set up against Galbatorix. Therefore, Arya _did_ have to sympathize with the man—he certainly did have a large amount of responsibility resting on his shoulders.

Arya waited for a while longer before she finally spoke again. "You need not make your decision today, Deynor," she said, and as she did so, she saw that a faint hint of relief swept across the man's face. "But, I do have a few requests," she added.

Deynor's face fell considerably, and Brom barely suppressed a chuckle.

"The clothing of choice presented to me," Arya began, and Deynor looked as if he were fighting the urge to groan. "I do not need any finery, mind you. In fact, I prefer to dress in men's clothing, and I believe that you will find that more agreeable to what you have to offer."

After watching Deynor's face for a little while longer, Arya decided to go easy on the man. "And just one other request," she said.

Deynor nodded.

"May you see to it that the boy Loraes is who you send whenever you wish to fetch me?" she asked.

This time, Deynor did not hide his emotion. He let out a sigh of relief and nodded. "That, Arya Drottingu, is something that I can assure you of," he answered with a smile.

Arya gave a slight smile back.


	19. Tearing At Her Heart

**A/N;** Agh, I'll be glad for when NaNoWriMo ends and I get to slow down the everyday updates… Ick. x.x;

But, for now… c:

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The sun began its trek downward through the sky. Rose-colored hues blended with the blueness of the sky, and creatures began crawling back in to their nests for another peaceful night of rest.

All of this was unbeknownst to Arya as she escorted back to her room by Brom. Down here, she realized, there were not many places where you could catch a glimpse of the sky. Something in her fell when she acknowledged this fact, but she simply pushed thoughts on it aside, eager to not ruin her experience here.

Instead of taking her down a direct path back to her quarters, Brom led Arya on a small tour of what Arya believed to be only a small section of the resistance inhabitance. She was amazed to see the skill that had prepared this place, especially due to the fact that, as Brom said, it was created with a matter of great haste.

Arya was not so captivated by the design work, however, to miss the sight of passerby making their way down another route. She offered only smiles to all of these humans she saw, but not a single one of them returned her gesture of friendliness. Though her face remained in a smiling position that was difficult for her to maintain, her smile felt wrong and out of place, and certainly not the genuine smile that came upon her face whenever in the presence of someone like Faolin.

Through her false beaming, Arya had to admit that she felt somewhat slighted at the non-existent greeting that the resistance was giving to her. Should she not be a savior to them, considering the fact that she was trying to form ties between the Varden and the elves?

To them, obviously not.

This idea frustrated Arya, and when she came upon the next person, who shot her a glare, she had to try hard to resist the urge to grab that person and shake some sense in to them.

Meanwhile, Brom talked on and on. Sometimes he would talk about the resistance, but other times he would simply talk to fill the silent void that stretched between him and Arya while the elf princess was fuming over how she was being received by the humans. It was at this point that Arya remembered something.

"Brom, you said that there were dwarves living here as well, are there not?" she asked, once more shaking off yet another scowl directed toward her.

Brom did not falter, and swiftly delivered a response. "Yes. They, in fact, crafted the whole of Farthen Dur, and they support the resistance as well. Many dwarves reside here in Tronjheim, as well as in the rest of the Beor Mountains. They live underground, mind you."

Arya found herself puzzled by the dwarves already. "But how can they live without the sun and the sky? The moon and the stars? The trees?" she asked, matching Brom's even pace.

Brom chuckled at this. "Elves are very partial to their scenery, I suppose, even more so than humans." Seeing Arya's look at this statement, Brom quickly added, "But humans like being in a comfortable habitat as well." Arya nodded at this, and Brom proceeded to speak. "Elves are born for the open air space with trees and the sky overhead. Dwarves, however, are accustomed to the ground and the earth, burrowing deep to make their homes."

Arya had nothing to say to that, although she still did not quite understand. Seeing her still bewildered expression, Brom attempted once more to explain. "Dwarves have many straightforward beliefs, and they find it customary to remain living in the ground. They believe and worship their own gods, and find anyone who speaks against their beliefs rather strange."

This answer suited Arya even less. "I understand that dwarves have their beliefs," she began, thinking of how to word what she wanted to say. "But now, you have mystified me. How is it that dwarves can believe in gods? Gods are nothing but a figment of one's imagination, as no one has even seen so much as an apparition of one."

Brom chuckled once again. "You have strong beliefs, Arya," he said and then added in a softer tone, "And I must admit, I admire that quite a bit."

Arya resisted the urge to flush at the praise and gave a nod to show her acknowledgement of Brom's words.

After a few more moments of silence while they walked, Brom halted and when Arya looked up, she saw that they had reached the door to her quarters. "Thank you, Brom," she told him, giving him a nod as she reached out to open her door. She stepped in to the room and was about to close the door, when Brom stuck his foot in to prevent it from shutting.

"Ah, one more thing, Arya. I know that the scornful looks cast upon you during our little venture did not go unnoticed by you. I ask that you not take these glances to heart, and that you know that eventually, those looks will be ones of amazement and wonder," Brom said. With that, he withdrew his foot, ducked his head, and ambled down the hall.

Arya shut the door and she had to admit, she did feel a slight bit better with Brom's words to reassure her.

Looking around her room, Arya saw that a new change of clothes had been laid out for her on the bed, and that an assortment of other outfits were piled next to her bed on the floor. Stepping forward, she picked up the tunic and pair of leggings picked out for her.

Just as she was about to change, a knock came on the door. Still clutching the new clothes, she opened the door slowly. Who she saw on the other side caused a smile to spread across her face.

"Faolin," she murmured softly, reaching out and taking his hand.

Faolin, however, was not quite in the mood for any romantic exchanges just yet. Instead, he invited himself in to Arya's room and looked around. Tilting his head, he looked back at her, still holding her hand.

"So how are _you_ fairing in this nest of humans? And dwarves as well, though I still have not seen one around yet," Faolin remarked, tugging on Arya's hand lightly and drawing her toward him.

"It's all right," Arya responded, trying to sound nonchalant about it. The only issue with this, however, was that Faolin knew her too well to fall for her feigning how she felt.

"Really, Arya? Honestly and truly?" Faolin pressed, tucking his hand under her chin and bringing her head up so as to make her look at him. "You know you can talk to me about anything."

Arya stared in to Faolin's eyes and beheld the innocence and caring in them.

_I don't deserve him_, she thought to herself cynically. _He's too good for me_.

"Faolin," Arya murmured, pulling away from him. "The humans here are not sympathetic toward the elves and… I worry for your safety."

"My safety?" Faolin asked, his tone hinting to a more incredulous sound. "My safety is nothing when it comes to protecting you, Arya Drottingu. You know that. As the next heir to the throne, you are too precious and valuable to lose."

Arya refused to take this as an argument. It was at this moment when she decided what she was going to do.

"Faolin," she began, raising her head and looking him directly in the eye. "It is for your own well-being that I give you this request of mine."

Faolin kept his gaze fixed on her intently, and Arya wanted nothing more than to forget about what she was going—and what she _had_—to say.

"Though I will sorely miss you, Faolin, I dismiss you from my service. You are no longer bound to having to protect me, meaning that it is best you return back to Du Weldenvarden now." Each word was an utterance of pure torture to Arya; with every single syllable she said, she wanted to simply throw down the gauntlet and renounce all she had just voiced.

But she couldn't. Not for Faolin's sake, whether he knew it or not.

"But why? What about Glenwing?" Faolin demanded, stepping off of the bed and facing Arya, staring at her with his penetrating gaze. Eventually, Arya had to look away.

"For your safety. Glenwing can take care of himself." was the only response that Arya managed to get out. Her voice did not quiver, and she once more calmed her nerves enough to appear strong. She did not quite know, however, that it was this exact action that made Faolin want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her firmly to try to get her to understand.

"My safety!" Faolin cried out. "Back to all of this business of safety! Arya Drottingu, you have known me for many years now. I can take care of myself, and while I take your concern to heart, I believe that I can remain alive for another day. Is there some meaning behind your words that I am supposed to discern the truth from?"

_Is there_? Arya thought to herself, and she felt as if things were crashing down all around her.

She did not know.

Faolin took Arya's prolonged silence as a sign of hesitation to answer, therefore a hesitation in giving him the answers he wanted. "If you loved me, you wouldn't be telling me to go back," he whispered, gray eyes still trained upon Arya. "So now, I ask you. Do you, Arya Drottingu, love me?"

_Yes_.

With the intensity of the moment, Arya saw that Faolin did not ask this question in the Ancient Language, which was for the better, as she knew that she could not lie if forced to speak in that tongue. Though she could respond with any words with utter ease in the human language, it still pained Arya to deliver the only answer she knew would hopefully persuade Faolin to leave her and the danger she had already put themselves in to.

"No," Arya answered, and the anguish that spread across Faolin's face tore at her heart.

Faolin seemed to shake at the impact of her single worded rejection of him. The male elf seemed to struggle to regulate his breath. Though he barely contained himself, Faolin managed to restrain his words. "Then, Arya _Drottingu_," Faolin stated icily as he reverted back to the Ancient Language, emphasizing Arya's title with a sense of frustration. "I will speak to Brom to make arrangements in order to fulfill your request."

"Faolin, I—"

"What ever you have to say, Arya, I will listen to, as is my duty. But as of now, I must go speak to Brom. Just tell me one thing."

_Anything, Faolin_, _for you deserve it_.

"Does your heart belong to someone?" he asked, eyeing her warily as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

What could she say to that? He was still speaking in the Ancient Language, and he obviously wanted for her to answer in the same tongue. She knew that she could give Faolin a great deal more pain if she spoke in the Ancient Language, but she did not know any other excuses she could make.

"Yes, Faolin. My heart does belong to someone else."

"Very well," Faolin responded, his voice turning even colder as he turned his back and left the room, leaving Arya to feel utterly defeated. Despite the fact that she had succeeded, for the most part, in protecting him, she still felt as if she were doing the wrong thing.

With that, Arya shut her door and locked it once more. Moving to her window seat, she leaned her head against the cool glass and closed her eyes. Tears pricked gently behind her eyelids, but she refused to cry, even though she was not in the presence of anyone else.


	20. Softly and Sweetly Now

**A/N;** Nothing much to put here, haha… I'm slowly perishing as I attempt to type, type, and type some more… Blah…

Hey, this is chapter twenty. O: I certainly have come a long way in less than a month, no? c;

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"Arya, why did you tell him that it was your wish for him to leave?"

"I do not wish to speak about it, Brom."

"You _must_, for I do not know how to answer him. I do not know how to explain to him, as I do not know anything about your mind."

Arya sighed with exasperation as she whirled around to face Brom in his entirety. "He is too good for me, Brom. He deserves someone better; someone who is fit for him."

"But you are a princess, Arya. Certainly that is reward enough for any elf?" Brom asked.

Arya looked at Brom and gave another sigh of vexation. "Is that all anyone ever thinks of? The fact that I am a princess? Just because I carry a high standing among the elves does not necessarily mean that I am automatically fit to give my heart to someone and the other way around. Simply… simply take a look at my mother!"

Brom raised an eyebrow at this statement, and Arya immediately wished that she could take it back. Instead of questioning her on her words, however, Brom let it go—a fact that Arya was incredibly grateful for.

"Arya, I have seen the way in which Faolin looks at you. The way he speaks to you and the way he acts around you when you are near. You mean something to him. Something that even I cannot quite name, but I know that he cares for you a great deal—more so than any other will ever care for you," Brom told her, and from the way he spoke, Arya could tell that he believed his words were the absolute truth.

"And I care for him as well," Arya added to Brom's contemplations. She paused here before she opened her mouth to speak again. "Yet… that does not matter, does it?"

"Of course it matters!" Brom snapped, surprising Arya. "It matters more than you can believe! The idea of caring is the very fine line that separates lust from love! You have seen how some of the men in the Varden look at you—now that, Arya, is lust in the purest form! The way Faolin speaks to you, holds you, and, yes, even kisses you—now those are all signs of the very difficult thing to find known as love."

It was quite obvious that Brom was very opinionated when it came to her situation.

"I do not know, Brom. I just do not know," Arya muttered.

"What is there to not know? What is there _to_ know? He loves and cares for you and you, from my perspective, love and care for him! Speak to him once and for all about all of this and clarify everything. Faolin was a decent travel companion on the road, and though I do not admit this about many people—or elves—I have to say that I rather enjoyed Faolin's company during the times I got to speak with him. I would find it a great pity if he were to be sent back to Du Weldenvarden, especially after he crossed mountains and a desert to get here."

"I'm sending him back because I care for him," Arya shot back, though her argument was half-heartedly stated.

"Because you care? Then I suppose you don't truly care about Glenwing's safety, even though he left, like Faolin, of his own accord to join you?"

"Leave me be, Brom. I am tired, and will deal with these matters later."

"No! I will not relent in this matter until you can once and for all come up with a good explanation for why Faolin should return back to Du Weldenvarden!"

"Brom, I am exhaust—" Arya cut herself off here. These words, and the ones she had just said suddenly brought flashbacks to her mind.

Flashbacks of the day she told her mother she had her heart set on becoming the ambassador of the elves.

Her mother had used the excuse of being too tired, before she eventually finally talked after some persistence from Arya. Now, Arya saw that she was in this exact same position—only this time, she had assumed the role of her mother.

It disgusted her.

"Yes then, Brom. I will give you a reason," Arya remarked, waiting for her words to take root in to Brom's mind.

Brom looked at her, brow furrowed at the sudden change of mind that Arya had just displayed. Was there some catch to this, or had she honestly decided to give him a reason? "Then let us hear it," he replied impatiently.

Arya took a deep breath before she began her answer. In truth, she had not planned to say anything. Right now, she was simply speaking through impulse. Though dangerous this was, she knew that it was the truest way to express what she truly felt.

"The reason why I want to send Faolin back to Du Weldenvarden is the fact that I feel as if being here is a danger for him," Arya said, knowing that she was repeating what she had earlier said. Brom made a notion to protest, but Arya silenced him with a reproaching look as well as a gesture made from her hand telling him to stop.

"And though Faolin can take care of himself, I feel as if he sometimes cares more for me than his own common sense should allow him. I know that I need devotion like this for some feats, but Faolin takes it all to the next level."

The more she spoke, the more she disliked herself.

"I care for Faolin—that much can be easily stated. If you care for someone, you should have the feeling that you must always protect him or her. You always want them to be safe whenever you embark on adventures. To wish for them to remain at your side, whether they are willing or not, is selfish, and I will not take it, especially from Faolin.

"He deserves a life back in Du Weldenvarden like any other elf. Glenwing told Faolin and I when we first met him that he _wanted_ to leave Du Weldenvarden. I never gave Faolin much of a chance to truly tell me what he wanted, for I highly believe that when he pledged himself to follow me to the Varden, he was swept to make this rash decision by his emotions."

"He would follow you to the ends of the earth," Brom whispered hoarsely.

Arya nodded. "And if he did, that would guarantee a sure death no matter what. I believe that Faolin should live more of his life back in Du Weldenvarden. If in, say, five years to a decade, he so chooses to return to me and resume his duties underneath me, I will gladly accept him. But for now…"

"You are giving him a free rein." Brom finished for her. He looked at her intently for a few moments, letting the silence in. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak once more. "I can see now that you do not want to let him go, but you see that you must for his sake, whether he truly knows it or not. I understand, and while I may not fully wish it, I do fully support this. I will speak to Faolin."

As he turned to go, Arya touched his shoulder lightly in order to stop him. "One more issue, Brom," she told him. He nodded to show his was listening, and she continued. "Whoever you take to escort Faolin back… Tell that person to deliver a message from me to him once he is on the border of Du Weldenvarden."

"A message, Arya?"

"Yes, a message. Let Faolin know that what I said about my heart belonging to someone… tell him that it was true, and that it belonged to him."

Brom bowed his head in compilation and nodded. With that, he left, closing the door and allowing Arya some time to herself.

One would have expected Arya to simply break out in tears, but she had been brought up to be too much of a monarch to do so. Still, that was not to say that she was at the very least extremely close to tears. When she closed her eyes, they threatened to spill out in a torrent over her cheeks.

_Is this really right?_ _It does not _feel_ right_, Arya thought to herself as she let out a shuddering sigh.

As she lay her head down on the pillows provided for her, Arya contemplated over the tide of emotions that rushed over her at once, making it hard for her to discern what she truly felt.

She knew for one thing that she felt a large rush of relief engulfing her. Faolin was to be going back to Du Weldenvarden, out of harm's way. There was no doubt in her that he would agree once he saw that even Brom gave his consent.

Relief.

The next biggest thing she felt was a sense of sadness. This was a feeling that she knew would come; she did not know it would have taken on so strongly. She did not cry, though simply the fact that she did not shed tears did not mean she did not feel misery when she and Faolin were to be separated.

Faolin. Her lover, her protector, her savior, and most importantly, her friend.

Relief and sadness. Sadness and relief.

Delving deeper in to her emotions, Arya saw that she was, in spite of herself, rather angry. _Yet I don't even know who I am angry with_, she thought to herself dejectedly.

She was angry with herself.

She was angry with herself for finding it within her to let Faolin go. She was frustrated with herself for even being _able_ to let Faolin go. She was aggravated with herself for falling in love with Faolin.

She was angry with Faolin for making her fall in love with him.

Relief, anger and sadness.

The last thing she found with herself was passion. Passion, compassion, sympathy, and empathy all put together, in order to be precise.

Her heart yearned for Faolin; it yearned for his touch and his words.

Relief, anger, sadness, and passion.

These four emotions were all bottled up within Arya, and she was not sure how long she could hold it. Though they did not cause her any physical pain, they did cause her some mental agony as she tried to rid herself of all the guilt and rage and whatever else was circulating through everything she thought about.

She had to stop thinking about Faolin.

She _couldn't_ stop thinking about Faolin.

Arya did not know how long she remained like this, though at one point, she fell asleep. Her dreams were touched by nothingness, and for this, she was grateful.

When she woke up, Arya sat there, dazed. She was still in the bliss of not remembering anything, when the events of the day suddenly crashed down on her without warning. She uttered a slight cry of agony before regaining control over the rush of emotions that coursed through every vein and fiber of her being.

Approaching her desk, her eyes fell upon a small piece of parchment on her desk, located next to the vase of flowers still in the process of blooming. For a moment, she mistook it for the note that Faolin had left for her when he had left the flower. When she got closer, however, she realized that it was something else. Picking it up, her eyes flickered through the page and the first thing that caught her eye was the signature.

_Faolin_.

Going back to the beginning of the writing, Arya saw that the letter was addressed with only her name, with no title.

_Arya_.

Part of her wanted to simply throw the piece of parchment down, yet the other part of her desperately wanted to read what it said. Biting her lip, Arya glanced down at it and glimpsed Faolin's neat and beautiful script. Instead of reading the message first, Arya simply brought it to her lips and closed her eyes, standing there without making a single movement.

After a while, she opened her eyes, and they first fell on the black morning glory sitting in its crystal container. Reaching out, she tentatively touched the curling petals, feeling the thick and velvet feeling that made the flower so distinct from others.

With that, Arya braced herself and looked down at the letter. She started toward the middle, where there was a clearly spaced out verse for her to read. After reading the first few lines of that section, she realized that it was a poem.

A poem. Faolin had written her a poem.

_Softly and sweetly now,_

_My love,_

_Watch the reflections,_

_Of the stars above._

_My words can't fathom exactly,_

_What you mean to me,_

_Without you, darkness seeps throughout my veins,_

_As far as the eye can see._

_At a lethargic pace,_

_My mind thinks of memories we've shared,_

_Problems we've faced,_

_And adventures we've shared._

_It's you who completes me,_

_I'm by your side,_

_Through the glorious sunrises,_

_And the raging tide._

_You've slipped through my fingers,_

_Just once before,_

_But then there you were,_

_Knocking at my door._

_There are three more words,_

_I must write that are true,_

_Though they may sound simple,_

_I love you._

With that, Arya swallowed tears back and set to reading the whole letter from the beginning.

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Haha!

Epic failure poem! 8D

I actually wrote that a while back… You see, I have this notebook thing where I just write a lot of stuff… That's a poem that I wrote during the summer (haha, I just realized how weird it sounds xD).

It doesn't even have even syllables in each line. Pshhh. xP


	21. Eleven Years Tomorrow

**A/N;** Probably the last week of super fast updates. I'll probably still update in December (if you want me to! xD), but not as fast…

Once again, thank you to all my reviewers. ^^

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When Arya woke the next day, she stared at the ceiling with a dismal expression. Wordlessly, she gripped the sheets and closed her eyes.

Faolin.

He was a pleasant thought to think about, yet right now, it was the thought of him that made her want to break down and cry—though she couldn't.

She wouldn't.

By now, he was probably long gone from the Varden, speeding back to Du Weldenvarden. Going away from the Varden and away from danger.

Away from her.

She couldn't help it; a tear trickled down her cheek, trailing down her sharp features and coming to rest at her chin. She remained that way for a while, unmoving.

Suddenly, she opened her eyes leapt from the bed with an art of grace. She moved about in a languid manner for a few moments before abruptly snapping out of her trance-like state with a harsh word or two against herself said in her mind. All of a sudden, her actions were performed with a crisp fluidity, and she appeared to be herself.

_Even if I do not feel like it inside_, Arya thought to herself, _I can still pretend._

This thought, for some odd reason, reassured her—as if by feigning her contentedness, she could actually truly feel it.

Bathing in the water left for her, she shuddered when the cool liquid touched her skin. When she was done, she dried herself off and dressed in a crimson tunic along with a pair of her customary leggings. She stepped in to her boots at the exact moment a timid knock was placed on her door. She waited for a few moments and collected herself fully. With that, she opened the door.

"M-my lady."

"Loraes," Arya greeted, putting on a face that hopefully showed that she was going to be relatively amiable today. This expression, however, obviously did nothing to ease Loraes's discomfort and fear of her.

"I—I am… to take you t—to… to Brom," Loraes stammered out, peering up at Arya. His bangs fell in to his eyes, and he looked rather flustered as he pushed the locks of chocolate brown hair away from being able to obstruct his view. "So… follow me, if you will," he added awkwardly before turning and beginning to walk away.

Arya, despite herself, gave a slight smile as she followed.

"Loraes," she asked, attempting to be conversational, though she knew that she, nor Loraes, was quite in the mood for any talk. Arya knew, however, that she had to keep her mind thinking of something else—preferably engaged in conversation. "How long have you been here in the Varden?" she asked, eyes flickering up to the small boy.

"All m'life… Ah, sorry… _my_ life," Loraes answered, unsure. He glanced over his shoulder at her, and by accident met Arya's gaze. He quickly ducked his head, and through the faint torchlight, Arya detected a hint of a flush spreading across the boy's cheeks.

"Yes?" Arya murmured, mulling this over for a few moments. It was rather sad, this—the boy did not know any world outside of the enclosed world of the Varden. "And how long is that?" she continued to ask, walking along.

Loraes remained silent for a moment before answering. "Eleven years tomorrow, my lady," he said.

"Eleven years," Arya repeated, her voice echoing slightly off of the walls as they continued walking. "Have you ever been outside of the Beor Mountains?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"The Beor Mountains… I do not believe I have ever been outside of Tronjheim, much less the mountains, my lady," Loraes remarked.

This prospect caused Arya's mental jaw to drop even further. _Never outside of Tronjheim?_, Arya thought to herself, still staring at the shaggy brown mop bobbing up and down in front of her, and once more, the maternal instinct to ruffle the boy's hair came back. She fought it down, but not before she reached out a hand to do so. She pulled back, and halted for a minute. Loraes stopped when he realized that Arya's light footsteps ceased, and he unwillingly looked around at her.

"Nothing," Arya responded to the unvoiced question that Loraes shot at her with his expression. "Proceed." Loraes needed no more encouragement; he continued on at a brisk pace.

"I leave you here, ma'am," Loraes suddenly stated after a while more of walking in a monotone silence. Arya looked up, and, indeed, Brom was standing right in front of them.

"Thank you, Loraes," Brom told the boy, and gave him a nod. With that, Loraes turned and darted out of sight, almost faster than Arya could follow him.

Turning his eyes back on to Arya, Brom greeted her with a nod and gestured for her to follow. Not much of a morning salutation, but Arya was used to getting just that from Brom—it was normal. In some ways, she liked that about him—the fact that he did not treat her like someone with extreme levels of royalty. In his book, though an elf was of a different race, all races alike, whether human, elf, or dwarf, had similar minds.

And the Ra'zac did not count, though, of course, it was possible that they too had minds similar to the rest of them. Possible? Yes. Probable? No.

"Where are we going?" Arya asked, once more resigning herself to follow someone who obviously knew how to navigate the halls better. She made a mental note to herself to try to pick out a few landmarks in order to help find her own way around by herself if necessary.

"To meet some dwarves," was Brom's response. "It's too bad that Faolin already—" Brom cut himself off here with a swift cough, which was credibly well performed, though Arya could tell that it was fake in order to mask what he had been about to say.

"Dwarves?" Arya asked, her voice ringing out as if she were excited. In truth, she _was_ rather thrilled at the idea of seeing real live dwarves, although the fact that Faolin was not here loomed over her like a storm cloud considerably.

"Yes," Brom said simply, walking along with a nonchalant demeanor. Arya saw this, and saw how casual he looked. With that observation, she herself attempted to copy how Brom executed his movements—without allowing Brom to see, which was, frankly, quite difficult, as Brom was very observant.

"Ah, Brom, punctual as usual. I like that in a man!"

A voice caused Arya to jerk her head up as it interrupted her thoughts. At first, she could not find where the voice came from, but saw that if she looked down slightly, the voice came from a perfectly normal source. Or, as normal as a dwarf could get.

As she and Brom neared, Arya scrutinized the dwarf. The first thing she noticed about him was the obvious thing: his height. He stood about three feet, and it was rather difficult for her to comprehend the height factor by itself.

"Yes, lass, I know. I'm short, short, short, but I guess there's nothing you can do about that, eh? In fact, maybe I'm not short… maybe _you're_ just tall," the dwarf proclaimed cheerfully. Though his words could be taken as an offense, the way he said them simply made Arya have to crack a smile.

"Ah, there you go! You look so much more chipper with a smile on your pretty little face!"

Arya threw a glance at Brom, and he, in turn, answered with a sheepish grin before speaking. "Arya, this is Orik Thrifksson. You could say he is a representative of the dwarves, though the dwarves inhabit all of the Beor Mountains. He is, in fact, the nephew of his dwarf majesty King Hrothgar."

Arya nodded and made sure that she stored this information in her mind firmly. _That just shows you how much you should not cross him_, she thought to herself seriously, the smile wiping off of her face. Though she had not expected to have to deal with other royalty, she now saw that this was the inevitable.

Examining Orik with a critical eye, the next thing their jade depths fell upon was the dwarf's beard. It certainly was… extensive. At this, Arya raised an eyebrow, though she quickly allowed it to fall in case Orik felt as if she were disgracing his presence. After living and coping with her mother… Arya knew how touchy monarchs, or at least, relatives to monarchs, could be.

_Am I example of that?_, she thought to herself briefly, then erased the thought.

"Well, go on then, lass. What's your name?" Orik asked, a grin widespread across his face, so infectious that once more, Arya felt her lips curve in to a delicately placed smile.

"Arya," she answered, and her tone came out a bit colder than she would have liked. Still, she had given him the information he had wanted, and it seemed as if he had not detected upon the icy tone placed in her voice.

"Pretty name, that is, yep, yep, yep," Orik said, and he took a step forward and extended his hand for a handshake. Just as Arya was about to accept this token of greeting, Orik stumbled and reached out a hand to steady himself. He grabbed Arya's waist, and she immediately tensed. As she did so, however, she felt like laughing at herself for this; of course Orik would reach out to grab her waist instead of her shoulder—after all, he was a dwarf. And she… well, she was a tall elf.

Brom leaned in toward Arya's ear and eyes flickering toward Orik, he gave a slight chuckle before opening his mouth to say something. "Dwarves are a little… _over fond_ of their drink, shall we say," he whispered before pulling away and looking down at Orik, mirth dancing merrily through his eyes.

"Hey, hey, now! Secretive people are not very well respected among dwarves!" Orik called out, obviously miffed that he was not tall enough to lean over and eavesdrop on the conversation going on above him. Arya and Brom simply stared back down at him, and Orik raised an eyebrow in a wordless challenge.

"He really is more respectful and level-headed when he hasn't had a couple of drinks prior to meeting and greeting someone… I apologize for this," Brom told Arya, a groan hinting behind his words. "I really did tell him to not…" Brom trailed off here, and this time, he groaned out loud.

With that, Orik stumbled and fell to the ground, though he was not hurt. He began snoring rather loudly, and Arya winced at the sound of it.

"What do we do now?" she asked, gesturing toward the sleeping dwarf.

Brom looked up and raised an eyebrow as if what he was about to say was the most obvious thing in the world.

"We wait."


	22. Company

**A/N;** -tired-

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"Mmmphhh…"

It was not quite a word; more of a sound uttered in a moaning tone. It was the type of utterance you would expect coming from someone who was experiencing a migraine of some sort—and, in fact, it was true.

Orik sat up and looked around. "Where am I?" he muttered. Suddenly, his vision cleared, and the images of Brom and someone else came to his eyes. "Ah, Brom," he greeted and then turned to look at Brom's companion.

What had she said her name was? Arha… Erya… "Hello," was the greeting he settled for.

The female looked at him with a note of interest. "Hello, Orik," she responded, and the sound of her voice to him was a type of pure, sweet birdsong. He closed his eyes and repeated the words she had said over and over in his mind before turning to look at Brom.

"Indeed, hello, Orik," Brom said gruffly, and Orik could already tell that he was in trouble.

"Ah, well… Now that _that's_ done with, shall we get on with business?" Orik asked, his eyes turning to the elf, pleading with her silently to save him from Brom's wrath.

"Oh no you don't," Brom growled, looking rather menacing—almost to the point where it appeared relatively comical. Arya stifled a laugh, and watched as Brom prepared to give Orik a sermon-like speech.

"I tell you to not drink for _one day_, and then you just go along and drink everything in sight?" Brom asked, crossing his arms. "Just this one day, Orik. _One day_. The day when I feel that I should introduce you to the princess of the elves."

"Princess?" Orik repeated dumbly.

Brom sighed. "This is not the end of this, Orik," he muttered, and then halted in his reprimand of the dwarf. He angled slightly toward Arya, and gestured toward her. "This, Orik, is the princess of the elves, Arya."

"Arya what?" Orik asked, tilting his head to the side.

Brom gave him a warning glance, but Arya responded quietly. "Svit-kona."

Brom nodded and went out, unperturbed at the interruption. "Yes—she is Arya. Arya Svit-kona. On another note, however, she is not just the princess of the elves… but she is also aspiring to be an ambassador for them in order to renew the ties between the Varden and the elves."

"Aye, lass, that is a big goal," Orik remarked, eyeing Arya as if sizing her up—but not in the manner that contained lust; just in a manner that Arya saw as wondering if she truly knew what she was pledging herself to. "And I must say that I have some admiration for you if you go for it. The elves have been rather withdrawn, and the humans and dwarves… they are not very happy about it. You may face some hardship as you go through day to day life."

Arya nodded solemnly. _As if I have not already figured _that_ out_, she thought to herself with a mental sigh.

"Now, as I happen to be somewhat of a representative of the dwarves, I suppose that you and I will be spending a lot of time dealing with each other, now shall we?" Orik asked brightly, winking—though not in a flirtatious manner, for which Arya was grateful for.

"Indeed," she answered shortly, much in contrast to Orik's very talkative habits.

"And now, if you will excuse me… I have some business to attend to," Orik suddenly said, standing up abruptly and with a deep bow that Arya found ironic for one so short, turned and paced down the hall.

"Don't forget to remind me about the lecture I'm going to have to give that dwarf later," Brom muttered to Arya and began walking away. Arya followed, and her eyes danced slightly with silent mirth at this remark.

"And now what do we do?" she asked.

"Well, I, like Orik, have some business to deal with. You should start in learning the politics and such revolving around the Varden… but not so soon after arriving. Count this day the last day you have for full freedom. Tomorrow we begin."

Arya's eyes betrayed no surprise at this statement, but inside, she was rather taken aback. _This is my second day in the Varden… and today is my last 'free day' as Brom puts it,_ she thought to herself, raising an eyebrow. _So soon, so soon…_

Almost immediately after she had let these thoughts pass through her minds, she gave herself a sharp mental scolding. She had chosen to become a part of the Varden life—and now she would pay the consequences no matter what. If she had wanted to remain pampered and ignorant from the world, she would have stayed back in Du Weldenvarden.

"Tomorrow, then," she said, murmuring her consent.

The two proceeded to walk on in silence until Brom stopped short and turned to face her.

"Arya, when was the last time you had female company?" he asked. This question was so farfetched, that it took a while for Arya to manage to process it through her mind.

_When was the last time you had female company?_

What type of inquiry was that? Mystified, Arya shrugged as she thought over the answer she could give. "A day or two before leaving Du Weldenvarden for the Varden… why?"

Brom looked bemused, then amusement crossed his face. "You have never been one for sitting and tending to the home, have you, Arya," he stated. Despite the fact that his words were meant to be a question, he said them in more of a knowing tone.

Embarrassment did not come easily to Arya, especially these days when she had to harden her heart against snide comments and glances—but now, as she thought about it, she saw that she was not quite the normal female who preferred the company of other females often. "I am an elf, Brom. I am raised differently, and I have lived to make do with things I cannot have. Faolin was the only elf nearly the same age as me, as I did not know Glenwing even existed back then," she told the human, easing her shoulders in to a slip of a shrug.

Brom nodded. "Of course," he answered as if he completely understood what Arya had said—and maybe he did; she didn't know. He studied her for a minute before continuing to speak. "But, as this is your last free day… you might as well find some company to keep you busy today. I'll see to it."

"I am not in need of friends, Brom," Arya retorted. Though her voice was still as placid and calm as ever, there was a faint hint of hurt hidden between the delicately pronounced syllables. "I do not need affiliations in the Varden. If they are so keen on hating me, let them. I will do my own business, and they can conduct theirs, and nothing will go astray."

Arya watched Brom intently as she said this. The man studied her once more and gave a rueful shrug. "I cannot vouch that can, or ever will, be, Arya. Due to that, you might as well try to make as many acquaintances you can get—and hopefully you can appeal to them in a good manner."

Arya wanted to argue, but when she saw that there was a certain level of truth to Brom's words, she cut off of her words. When he realized that Arya was not going to answer at the current moment, Brom turned and began walking, Arya in tow a couple of paces behind him.

"And now, Arya, I must take my leave of you. I will assure you, however, that company will be sent your way as soon as I can summon them," Brom told Arya once they reached the door to her quarters.

With that, Brom turned and walked on down the hall. Without bothering to watch him, Arya entered her room. Carefully turning and locking the door—as she did not want her 'company' barging in on her without knocking—she set to sitting at her desk. Her eyes flitted for a moment to the piece of parchment from Faolin. The parchment containing his poem, and his letter.

A sad smile drifted across Arya's face as she averted her gaze from it. Taking out a thick piece of parchment from the pile left for her on the firmly built desk, Arya stared down at its blankness for a few moments.

This blankness of the parchment was what she had been like when she had been born—no purpose and devoid of any marks. Hesitantly, took a writing utensil provided for her on the desk as well, and touched its tip against the grainy surface.

The ink transferred freely, and even Arya could not quite contain herself. She began writing with a type of intensity, her face a mask of one who was extremely absorbed in the task at hand. She had no thoughts in her mind as she wrote; she simply wrote through instinct and impulse. It was much different from her structured way of thinking, but somehow she felt freer than she had ever felt before—within the limitations of how she felt when she could be carefree around Faolin.

A knock rapped at her door, disturbing Arya from her tranquil thoughts. She gave a resigned sigh, for she knew that the knock could mean either one of two things. Brom had either sent Loraes to fetch her for something, or Brom's supposed 'company' for her had arrived.

Making her way to the door in no hurry, Arya's motions slid in to being performed in more of a lethargic manner. She reached for the door and pulled it open, her face betraying no emotion whatsoever, though she attempted to put a smile on for the sake of not fully intimidating her guests.

The first thing that reached Arya's eyes was a flurry of pinks and yellows rushing toward her and then veering toward the right of her sharply. When she whirled around, she saw that there were three of them—and they were all placed in a straight line.

The first one was a slender slip of a girl whose age Arya placed at around thirteen or fourteen. Her rose-colored dress was not the finest work of art, but it still had a feeling of refined elegance to it. Dipping in to a curtsy, the girl's deep brown eyes peered out from behind locks of light brown. "Sophia, my lady," she murmured, turning her gaze down to the ground. She stepped back and looked expectantly toward the next girl.

This one was dressed in a pale golden dress that contrasted greatly against her dark colored skin. Arya had to admit that she had never seen anything like the girl's skin, and that she rudely stared as she tried to take in the girl's skin tone. Peering in to the girl's face, Arya saw a pair of light hazelnut colored eyes that were framed generously with thick, black lashes. Dark hair, almost the same shade as Arya's, hung short and messy around the girl's face, giving a sense of someone who was not particularly fond of vanity. The girl looked Arya directly in the eyes and did not tear her gaze as she introduced herself. "Chloe, miss," she murmured, and Arya managed to detect a slight flicker of defiance in the girl's eyes. With that small amount of defiance, Arya began to feel a certain level of respect for this Chloe girl.

The final individual was a petite and frail looking creature. "Mia, my lady," she told Arya, her voice barely above a whisper. Arya immediately could tell that Mia was afraid of her, and while this should not have affected her much, Arya did have to feel rather hurt. Then again, it was a possibility that Mia had a reason, staring up at her with deep blue eyes set deep delicately in to a face framed with golden curls.

Arya drew back from observing all of them in order to view them all together. "I am pleased to meet you," she told them, though this did happen to be reasonably far from the truth. Still, it could have been worse—they could have been girls who had nothing but frivolous matters on their minds. From what she could see, all three of the ones chosen for her by Brom were dead serious in their ways. Living in the Varden had obviously changed them, as Arya could not imagine that any of them had always been quiet and aloof.

"And I suppose that you are all here to… _entertain_ me. Or to keep me company," Arya remarked, giving a shrug of her shoulders to show the three girls that she was as puzzled about this situation as they were. Her statement was answered only with three sets of eyes staring at her, and Arya gave a slight nervous trill of laughter when they made no response.

There was quite the simple word to describe this situation.

Awkward.

"And I know that you might be a little afraid of me," Arya continued on, softening her voice as she threw a glance toward Mia. "And that you might feel some type of hatred against me or my race." Her eyes flickered toward Chloe, but then shook these thoughts away. "And, I can assure you that this is normal. I did not ask Brom to do this, but he went out of his way to bring all three of you in to my company in order to help me pass the rest of today."

"You're very pretty, miss."

This statement caught Arya off guard, and she immediately looked to whoever had said it. Chloe. Somehow, that did not surprise her very much.

"Thank you," Arya answered, accepting the praise smoothly and even adding a tiny flicker of a smile to back it up.

"This is rather odd," Chloe said to Arya, her voice frank and even.

"Just a small, small, _small_ bit," Mia suddenly piped up. Her voice wavered slightly and squeaked at the end.

Sophia was the first to give a small laugh at this, and Mia soon joined her. Chloe waited for a bit, and Arya could feel the dark-skinned girl scrutinizing her response to laughter. Arya answered Chloe's visual challenge, giving a couple bell-like laughs. She saw that after this, Chloe joined in as well, and the mood in the room lightened considerably.

_Still_, Arya thought to herself. _This is going to be a long day._

It was true—and it would possibly be longer than when she had sat with Faolin alone at the campfire just a couple of days ago.

Just a couple of days ago.


	23. Nobility and Perfection

**A/N;** Seth Clearwater is my babyyyy. 3

No, I don't care about Edward or Jacob or Bella… Frankly, I'm not that big of a fan of the Twilight series.

But Seth is my puppyyyy! 333

Anyway, thank you to all my reviewers. ^^ I'm really glad that turkey day break (haha, that's what I call it) has come upon me. O:

I am currently listening to the album "Walk This Way" by The White Tie Affair. Very good band. O: You know… I get the feeling I've already said that they were a good band before… Heehee.

-----

Arya resigned herself to sitting on the floor. Chloe joined her, while Mia perched on the wooden chair and Sophia sat on Arya's bed after gaining position from the elf. The four of them remained in a lengthy silence before Chloe spoke.

"Why did you come here?" she asked, and Arya was surprised at the girl's boldness. Still, she had to admit that if she were in Chloe's place—or any of the girls for that matter—she would be interested in why an elf all of a sudden came to the Varden bearing the wishes to accomplish something as great as fixing some type of connection between the Varden and the elves.

"I came here to renew the ties between the Varden and the elves, as over the years, it has depleted in to naught," Arya answered, choosing her words carefully. She did not want anything she said to be held against her if these girls turned out to not find her a very favorable person.

This answer seemed to satisfy both Mia and Sophia, but Chloe still looked as if she were waiting for more. When Arya saw this, annoyance flickered briefly, though she fought it down, as once again, putting herself in Chloe's place, she too would not have been satisfied by such a simple answer.

"But you surely know that elves are scorned here," Chloe stated bluntly, receiving warning glances from the other two girls, though she ignored them. Arya had to admit—she admired the girl's frankness in whatever she said.

"I do," Arya responded, giving a slight incline of her head. "But," she added, raising her chin, giving her an aura of pride, "I did not come here to worry about what others think of me. I came here to, for the good of all the races, rekindle the relations between the Varden and the elves."

"That is a very noble of you," Sophia murmured from her spot on the bed. Arya lifted her eyes to look at the girl. Sophia met the depths of Arya's jade eyes dutifully, and Arya was not quite sure, though she felt as if she could detect a hint of fear flitting through Sophia.

Arya accepted this praise with what she hoped was a gracious nod. Silence fell upon the room again like a vulture, stretching its reach from the ceiling that had been carefully crafted with tools of the utmost delicacy down to the plain, smooth surface of the floor. It filled every nook and cranny of the space, yet Arya still felt strangely comfortable. She felt eyes studying her, but she paid them no heed, as she took her earlier words deep in to her heart.

Why should she care what the humans and dwarves thought of her? Why should she care about making a good impression, since, after all, the only way to attempt at a true and honest impression was to be herself?

Suddenly, however, these thoughts struck Arya as ridiculous. It was impossible—how on earth could she bring herself to ignore the glances thrown in her direction as if she were some type of disease sent to plague all of them?

_You are not perfect, Arya_, she thought to herself sternly.

A voice inside her mind spoke up. _Then maybe it would do you some good to try to be perfect?_, it asked her.

Though the obvious answer should have been 'no', Arya found herself rather compelled to think about it first. "No one is perfect," she said, not realizing until after she had stated it that she had voiced it aloud. Three pairs of eyes turned to her, and Arya met each and every one of them head on as soon as she saw that she had spoken aloud. Now that she had done so, she would not go back on her word. If any one of the girls felt the need to argue with her, she would stand and argue straight back.

Though Arya did not quite feel it, there was a subconscious part of her that was changing. It was as when Faolin had left, he had also taken the part of her that yearned for a sense of joy—a sense of fun. Tomorrow, she would face the first day of many in conducting business with the Varden—and all of that would surely eat up the rest of mirth she managed to find in her time servicing as an ambassador. Even if Arya did not wish to do that, she had no choice. If it was one thing she had received from her mother, the hereditary sense of pride was what Arya got the most. It was this sense of pride that prevented Arya from throwing the towel and going back to Du Weldenvarden—she would grit her teeth and bear the hardships of her decision.

"That… is correct," Chloe said, drawing her words out slowly as if contemplating over the matter for a matter of moments. "And this is probably due to the fact that everyone has their own view of what perfection is. In each person, perfection is never the same—while one attempts to achieve one thing, another might wish to accomplish something else."

By now, it was quite obvious to Arya that none of these girls—least of all Chloe—were the pampered and spoiled type. Life in the Varden had obviously hardened them, and Chloe demonstrated her knowledge well through the points made in her clear, even-toned speaking. In some ways, they reminded Arya much like herself—with a few minor setbacks, including the fact that they garbed themselves in dresses.

Dresses had never agreed well with Arya, for she found that it was cumbersome to have to move quickly when necessary in them without worrying about which way the skirt of the dress was going to go next.

"What is this?" a soft, fluttering voice asked, drawing Arya out of her thoughts. When the female elf looked up, she saw that it was Mia who had spoken. Mia was currently looking at Arya, a questioning look in her eyes overpowering the one of fear—though Arya knew it was still in there somewhere.

Mia was holding a piece of parchment. Which one, Arya did not know—but she knew it had to be either her piece of poetry, or Faolin's poetry. Neither one of them mattered more than the other—both of them were close to Arya—nor she did not like the fact that she had left them out on her desk when anyone could see them.

"Nothing," Arya answered, trying to not make it sound as if she were desperate. "May I have it?" she asked, reaching out and gesturing for Mia to hand the parchment over. To Arya's relief, Mia did so, and the piece of parchment was soon safe in Arya's clutches.

Looking down at it, Arya saw that it was her own poem. It was somewhat of an answer to Faolin's—and Arya was glad that Mia did not know how to read the Ancient Language, for the poem was relatively emotional.

Chloe peered over Arya's shoulder. "That's the Ancient Language, is it not?" she murmured quietly, surprising Arya with this statement. Arya whirled around while still sitting down and stared at Chloe disbelievingly.

"You know the Ancient Language?" Arya asked in a whisper.

Chloe gave a slight tilt of her head. "Not very much—most likely not as extensive of a knowledge as you do, by looking at your poem. But I did happen to pick up a few words from Du Vrangr Gata."

_Should it not be 'Du Gata Vrangr' if said properly?_ "Oh yes?" Arya remarked. "Who are they?" She tried to mask her curiousness, but failed considerably.

"They are a group of magicians that ally themselves with the Varden. They support the Varden fully—but in no means are they necessarily underneath strict orders from Deynor. They are quite new, and there is no head of them yet, meaning that all the magicians are still in somewhat of a disarray." This explanation came from Sophia, who appeared to know the nuts and bolts of the entire Varden.

"How do you know this?" Arya asked, for she had been underneath the influence that a mere slip of a girl could know so much about the Varden. Though she had come to the recent conclusion that these were girls who faced very grim experiences, she still wondered as to what extent their knowledge of the Varden reached.

Sophia looked at Arya warily. "Because I," she proclaimed, "Am Deynor's only daughter."

This caught Arya by surprise, and she set herself to studying Sophia again. Now that she did so, the subtle similarities between the two became visible to Arya. Both looked as if they were subjective and would bend to anyone's will, yet underneath… Underneath lay a dignity unmatched by most.

"Then you," Arya remarked, drawing out her words slowly, "Are his successor?"

"Not necessarily," Sophia murmured, casting her eyes downward at the floor. "It is… Deynor's decision."

_Would you look at that?_, Arya thought to herself. _Brom made an interesting decision in who he wanted my companions to be._

"Brisingr…"

The usage of the word from the Ancient Language instantly made Arya look around wildly. When she did so, she saw that Chloe's eyes were fixed to the page that Arya had foolishly held upright. In an attempt to make it appear as if it were out of habit, Arya folded the page in half carefully.

"That means 'fire', doesn't it?" Chloe asked, looking at Arya intently, and Arya nodded as an answer.

To Arya's relief, Chloe did not press on with the poem. Instead, a silence once again blanketed the area.

A knock on the door sounded.

Arya leapt up and went to the door, unsure of what to expect. When she opened the door, she once again peered in to the face of Loraes.

The small boy was panting hard, and it took a while for him to catch his breath so that he could speak. "My lady… Brom urges you to… to come with the utmost hast. It is important… and cannot wait…"

The state in which Loraes was giving her his message was what surprised Arya the most. He appeared rushed and though he tried to, it was hard for him to say what he had to say calmly. Something wasn't right, and this… scared Arya.

"Go, Loraes, go!" she whispered to the boy. At this, Loraes turned and began running, with Arya in swift pursuit. She did not even know what was wrong—she just knew that this situation she was to face was dire, and that Brom had called upon her for some reason unknown to her.

Suddenly, Loraes tripped on his feet, and took a hard fall on to the ground. Arya skidded to an easy stop and knelt down. "Loraes?" she asked in a voice that sounded more serene than she truly felt. "Are you all right?"

The boy gave a groan and pushed himself off the ground. His face was dirty, and he had succeeded in getting a cut on his face from a sharp rock. It was not deep, but it was, however, rather long. Before Arya could get the chance to try to help heal the boy, however, he had already set off running again.

Arya truly had to admire the boy's courage—but she also had to frown upon his eagerness to continue on without tending to wounds. Though his cut was not serious, there was always the possibility of infection, which would then leave the boy with nothing but a nice scar—if it healed itself eventually.

Then again, a scar would be a nice mark to impress any females with.

_Arya! Get a grip on yourself_, she thought to herself sternly as she followed Loraes, her raven black hair billowing out and trailing behind her.

Abruptly, Loraes stopped, and Arya just missed him when she, too, halted. They had come upon a gruesome scene, and fear installed itself within Arya as she beheld what was laid out in front of her. It was a matter of seconds before she reacted.

A cry of anguish issued from the elf princess.


	24. Hard to Find

**A/N;** I loveza music. 8D

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The eyes of those already located in the room traveled up to Arya. No one made a motion, but they were all watching her intensely, waiting for her reaction. She supplied them with yet another cry of anguish, which was much unlike her normal demeanor. Just as she was about to rush forward, someone stepped up to restrain her.

"Arya," Brom murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder. His eyes flickered up behind her, and when Arya looked over her shoulder, she saw that Chloe was standing there, closely flanked by Sophia and Mia.

"What are they doing here?" she hissed to Brom, her voice inaudible to anyone else. As she watched the three girls behind her, she saw Sophia moving to join Deynor on the opposite side of the room.

"They followed you, no doubt," Brom answered calmly. It was this calm and peaceful tone that suddenly installed a feeling of anger within Arya. How could he remain so tranquil and at ease?

"And what is _he_ doing here?" Arya asked, gesturing downward to where the figure of someone lay, not dead, but unconscious.

Without waiting for an answer, Arya bypassed Brom's restraining hand and knelt down at the makeshift cot, her lips pressing down in to a firm line as she tried her hardest to banish any part of her that was about to breakdown.

Though he was unconscious, this alone frightened Arya greatly, as did the harsh wounds marking his body. It was a sight she had never seen before, and it was a sight she did not want to repeat. It was the scene of her friend, her caretaker, and her lover lying in front of her. Wounded.

_Faolin_.

"How did this happen?" Arya asked, her voice tense. She looked up and stared directly at Brom. When she failed to procure an answer from him other than a silent gaze, she stood up and looked to each and every other face in the room, ending on Deynor's. "How did this happen?" she repeated.

_Calm yourself, Arya. He is not dead_, a voice inside her said. Though Arya knew that this was right and she should listen, she was still stubborn.

Brom suddenly voiced Arya's thoughts aloud. "He has not died yet, Arya."

"He certainly _looks_ the part, doesn't he?" Arya snapped.

Silence.

"Is this what awaits all those who try to serve the Varden?" Arya pressed, throwing her angry green eyes around the room, making sure that none escaped how she truly felt about this. "Is this what I have to look forward to in my attempts to do good for the elves and the Varden?"

Silence.

No one moved. With this, Arya turned her back to them all, pretending as if they were not there. Eyes viewing the more visible of Faolin's wounds, she touched each one lightly with the palm of her hand. At each one, she murmured, "Waíse heill." Each one healed rather well, though there were many of them. By the time Arya had completed the task of healing Faolin's wounds—and she did not even know if she had finished with all of them, as their still might be some more she could not see—she felt the drain on her strength.

She knew that she was being overdramatic. She also knew that nobody in the room was of fault for Faolin's injuries, and that she should not have acted so rash in her words.

But she… did not care. Faolin was hurt, and that was the sole thing that mattered to her right now.

Looking down at his face, the urge to cradle his head in her arms overwhelmed her, and she had to concede to it. His eyelids were pulled over his silvery eyes, and his lips were parted slightly. Faolin's face seemed to renew a feeling of peace within her, and Arya was able to look back up at those crowding the room without feeling the need to antagonize them.

"How did this happen?" she asked in a composed manner. Absent-mindedly, her fingers reached down and slid themselves through the fingers of Faolin's right hand.

Finally, Deynor spoke. "They were ambushed by a small group of Ra'zac—four, perhaps," he said, and at once, everyone in the room stiffened at the mention of the creatures—no, _monsters_. "Silas, Faolin's companion, took down one of them with his sword, but the others were not quite as easily struck down. In ordinary circumstances, I have no doubt that Silas and Faolin could have bested the group of Ra'zac with no problem—but the monsters had the slip of an advantage due to the fact that it was late at night, and there was not much light visible.

"The two of them managed to, indeed, best the Ra'zac, but they were left at that point, injured and with no supplies—and, as they were stranded in the middle of the Beor Mountains at that point, they turned back. Silas managed to tell me all of this before…"

Deynor faltered here, making Arya look at him curiously.

"…Before he passed on."

These words struck Arya like a harsh blow. She had never met the man Silas, yet she felt as if it were fault he was dead—and perhaps it was. Arya could not dwell on this matter for much longer currently, as a cry rang out shrilly from Mia, who backed up against the wall, wringing her hands. Her face was contorted in a manner that consisted of nothing but pure agony, which startled Arya.

Arya threw questioning eyes in Deynor's direction.

"Her lover," he answered, and all of a sudden, the man looked much older than he truly was. A sense of tiredness occupied the whole of the man's body, and he heaved a large sigh as the sound of muffled sobs coming from Mia spread throughout the room. Arya felt her own eyes stinging slightly with tears, but blinked them away quickly. She could not afford to have herself crying in this situation.

What must Mia be thinking? Was she wondering why her lover died, while Arya's was spared? If that was the case, then Arya… did not know what to do.

Standing up, the elf princess made her way to where Mia was. Keeping her distance, but coming closer than the others in the room were, Arya halted in front of the weeping girl. She was aware of eyes burning in to her figure, but for her own sake—and Mia's as well—she ignored them.

"Mia," Arya murmured softly, looking intently at the girl's bowed head. Mia would have to look up at her sometime, wouldn't she? "You loved him very much, didn't you?" Arya asked, though it was pointless asking the question—the answer itself was evident from the way Mia was all of a sudden mourning so deeply.

It took a while for Arya to get a response, but Arya's patience was soon rewarded with a soft utterance from Mia. "Yes," the girl whispered, her voice thin and tired. The misery in the girl's voice cut daggers in to Arya's heart, and she deeply wished she could do something about it.

Arya was never good at giving comfort to someone; it was probably another one of the hereditary traits she had received from her mother.

_Thanks, Islanzadí_, she thought to herself sardonically.

"I am sorry," Arya murmured, hesitantly reaching out to touch the girl's shoulder. When Mia failed to produce an answer in response, Arya attempted at empathy. "I, too, know what it is like to lose love," the elf added, her thoughts momentarily flashing back to Islanzadí.

Mia looked up, for which Arya was glad. What she did not intend to see, however, was the flash of rage that passed through the girl's eyes. Confused, Arya did not say anything, though she knew that she had somehow stumbled upon a tender subject that the girl was touchy about.

"How can you know? Your lover is laying right there, still alive and still breathing!" Mia snapped. Her voice was still frail, yet it possessed a large amount of anger.

Arya wanted to say something—she truly did. The mixture of surprise of having such an outburst from Mia as well as not knowing how to explain her relationship with her mother… it slowed down her thinking and made it difficult for her to figure out what she could say to console the girl.

"I… I am sorry," was all the elf could choke out.

"Yes indeed? Well, as you can see, _my lady_, saying sorry is not bringing Silas back, nor does it help ease the pain of knowing he died defending an… an _elf_!" By now, Mia was trembling, as her heightened emotional status turned to one of pure anger directed solely at Arya.

Arya was at complete loss of what she could do. She reached out a hand once more to restrain Mia's rage with her arm. It did no good, however, as the girl tore away from Arya's touch.

Arya stepped back, and bit her lip. She threw a glance around her before backing out of the room. She knew that she should stay and face her frustrations and fears, but she couldn't help it. Backing up out of the door, she turned and fled down the hall.

Tears welled in Arya's eyes, and she bit her lip once more as she ran. She ran just for the sake of running, as she had no idea where she was headed. Suddenly, she came to a halt after a while. Common sense regained its grip on her, and she looked around, eyes searching for a sign of something familiar

It was at this point when Arya had to admit something. Though she did not like it, she had to say that she was rather… lost.

She sunk down to the ground, leaning her head against the wall. Closing her eyes, Arya inhaled and exhaled deeply, running her fingers through her hair. She needed time to clear her head, but it was as if she could not settle her thoughts.

Everything was overwhelming her. She could not stand any of it, nor could she _under_stand any of it. It was just her second day in the Varden—her_ second_ day. Already, she had succeeded in uprooting part of the Varden—and her own sanity, for that matter.

Arya remained this way for a while, sitting still and not moving.

Suddenly, a light trill of musical melody fluttered to Arya's ears. Surprised, she opened her eyes. She heard him before he saw him, as the melodies intensified and footsteps rounded the corner.

"Arya!" the elf called out cheerily. Arya looked up, and met Glenwing's eyes. A smile alighted upon her face, which was surprising, as smiling was the last thing she felt like doing.

"Glenwing," Arya responded tiredly. She was about to stand up when Glenwing slid down to sit beside her. He turned his head to look at her, and put his arm around her—not in an intimate way, but a way that suggested at friendship and comfort.

"I heard about Faolin," Glenwing stated in a simple tone, no actual deep meaning behind his words. "But at least he's still alive, right?" he added in an optimistic voice when Arya did not respond.

Somehow, the way Glenwing said it, made it seem less serious—at least to the point where Arya could relax from her seemingly large amount of tension. Once more, Arya did not speak. This time, Glenwing did not press with any further words. Instead, he let out another intricate little melody. Arya picked up on the melody, and soon joined in with a harmony.

It was at this moment when Arya felt at peace. Her lids lowered half over her eyes, and she leaned her head lightly on Glenwing's shoulder. It was in a friendly way, as it always was with Glenwing—something that Arya knew that, in this world, was hard to find.


	25. Grip On Reality

**A/N;** Happy turkey day to all! :) Give lots of thanks! ^^

I, as a part of my thanks, give another shout out to all my reviewers whose reviews continue to psych me to type more. ^^

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At some point, Arya knew she must have fallen asleep. Her breathing was calm and deep, though this was unknown to her, as she was lost in the land of dreams. Her mind was filled with images, some pleasant, and others… not so pleasant. As each image fluttered past her subconscious vision, she would give a small reaction, whether it was the corner of her lips turning up slightly or her fist clenching.

A slight skidding noise awoke Arya, and she jolted up, looking around her wildly as she scrambled to mentally capture all her thoughts once more in order to remember everything. She did not have to wait long, for the memories at once began flooding back in to her mind.

Looking around, she acknowledged Glenwing's presence, but also saw that Loraes was standing in front of the two of them, looking rather uncomfortable as he attempted to avert his gaze away.

_It is not like that, dear Loraes. Faolin is my lover, not Glenwing_, Arya thought to herself as she looked intently at Loraes as if trying to convey her message mentally. Loraes still appeared uncomfortable, however, and Arya knew that he did not quite get it.

Standing up, Arya flashed a slight smile toward the boy, and he reluctantly looked at her. "My lady," the boy began, pausing for a moment to brush a way a strand of his shaggy brown hair. "Deynor requests you to return."

Arya stiffened at this appeal. "But Mia…" Arya trailed off here, and Glenwing gave her a curious glance. She shook her head in response, and waited for Loraes to answer.

"That is partially the reason why Deynor requests your presence, my lady," Loraes replied respectfully. He looked thoughtful for a minute and then added softly, "Please go, lady. Deynor truly did look like he wanted to say something to you."

Arya peered at Loraes carefully, unsure whether to trust the boy's judgment or not. In the end, she gave a resigned sigh and waved him on forward. "Go on, then," she told him, then set to follow him. A sudden thought entered the elf's mind, and she looked over her shoulder for Glenwing—only to discover that the elf had already disappeared.

Furrowing her brow at this, Arya gave a slight shrug and simply turned to follow Loraes. The boy was moving at a reasonably fast pace, though not as quick as before.

"Loraes," Arya suddenly began, continuing to follow him through a maze of halls which Arya made yet another mental note to study. "What happened after I… left?"

Loraes seemed to mull these words over for a few moments. "Nothing much, my lady," he answered, though Arya felt as if this was not a complete answer.

Silence lapsed between the two, and Arya began to feel relatively frustrated that Loraes was not saying much. Without meaning to, her mental consciousness stretched out and probed his lightly. When she discovered what she was doing, she held back—then went back to attempting to accomplish it. Maybe she could figure out something from Loraes.

She stopped when she hit a thought of his. Exhaling deeply in the form of a sigh, she addressed the boy once again. "Loraes, you do not have to treat me like a lady—you do not have to worry about repeating events to me. It is better that they are gruesome then untruthful."

A look of confusion crossed the boy's face, and Arya realized that she had made a mistake in confronting the boy so boldly, as he had no idea that she had just been in the shallow depths of his mind. Still, Loraes was good at not asking questions, and instead compiled to Arya's wishes after a little while more of contemplation.

"Mia had half mind to chase after you when you left, but she was held back by Deynor—though not before she, in her rage, turned and slapped him…" Loraes trailed off here, then he returned to speaking. "…Quite hard, if I may add."

Arya winced at the prospect of frail, petite Mia summoning up the ability to hit someone—especially the leader of the Varden. _She has more inside of her than she lets on._

"Deynor is good about situations like that, however… he managed to keep his control, and attempted to speak with Mia. He reasoned with her to figure out whom she truly was mad at. Who truly deserved the wrath of all of this."

Arya waited, biting her lip.

"And Mia… well, she quieted down a little, but when someone mentioned burying Silas—foolish person indeed—she lost it once more. Began muttering and screaming and crying about how she couldn't live without her Silas… and she grabbed a dagger out of the folds of her dress since most of the women here have that as a security measure, and, well…"

When Loraes once more trailed off here, Arya felt the urge to scream with impatience. Why did he leave her hanging like this? Surely he didn't need to treat her like another lady—after all, he lived in the Varden where many women who didn't need pampering surrounded him. Why should she be any different?

At this point, Arya realized that she was holding her breath. Closing her eyes and simply following the boy's footsteps, she coaxed herself in to releasing some of her tension—enough so that she could at least breath in and out easily again.

"She made a move to hurt herself, but Brom noticed at the last second and jumped forward to knock the blade out of her hand. He succeeded, but not entirely when it comes to the measure of safety—by accident he managed to cut his hand considerably well. And that was when they sent me to get you. By now, they probably have Mia somewhere where she cannot cause any damage."

Arya was surprised at the amount of ease Loraes seemed to be in as he delivered all of this news to her. _A boy of… ten can deliver this news to me with a calm face, and I cannot even listen to it without cringing?_, Arya thought to herself darkly. _You have some work to do, Arya._

Suddenly, the factor of Loraes's age hit Arya like a resounding slap. "Loraes… you said yesterday that you would be eleven the next day…" she murmured, her voice trembling slightly.

Loraes glanced over his shoulder. "Yes," he answered simply, his look on his face demonstrating his confusion at why Arya suddenly seemed to be choked up about this fact.

"And today, you are eleven, are you not?"

"Yes."

Eleven years old. So, so young…

Arya now looked at Loraes with a new pair of eyes. He was certainly a small boy and needed a good deal of physical growth… But already, he was mature beyond his years, for living with the Varden had shown him things a normal boy should not have to see and hear until he was considered a man of at least sixteen, as was human custom.

"I admire you, Loraes," the elf princess murmured, her words nearly inaudible—yet Loraes managed to catch them. When he processed what he had heard, his expression changed from immediate perplexity to a look of bashfulness. Coming from an elf—not to mention an elf _princess_—this surely was a good deal of praise.

"Thank you, lady," Loraes mumbled, ducking his head even lower to hide his embarrassment. He quickened his pace, most likely eager to get out of this situation. Arya did not take this personally, however, as she was still deeply immersed in her own thoughts.

What kind of world is this, where a young boy just turned twelve can see such hardships up close without having to ask anyone?

"Lady?" Loraes said.

Arya looked up, and saw that they had arrived in the room once again. She gave a mental grimace and stepped inside. Eyes turned on to her, and though she did not want to, she forced herself to meet every single gaze, whether they were menacing or sympathetic or simply unemotional at all.

Unsure of what she was do, the female elf dropped her gaze to where Faolin still lay. She took a hesitant step forward, but then halted when the sound of a cleared throat reached her ears. Looking up, she met Deynor's eyes, which possessed a certain level of unhappiness and frustration.

Arya couldn't blame him.

"Arya…" the leader said, wiping a hand across his brow as a sign of his distress. Otherwise, however, Deynor tried very hard to let no one see how frightened the situation had truly made him.

At once, Arya dropped her gaze to the floor as a sign of how ashamed she was of herself. "I am sorry, Deynor," she whispered. "I did not know she would react like that. If I had known…"

"No, Arya. There was no way you could have known—there was no way any of us could have known," Deynor sighed, though when Arya stole a glance at the man through her lashes, she saw an accusing look flash through his eyes before it was blinked away quickly. "Loves does strange things to people, and I happen to know that Mia was very much in love with Silas before he… entered the void."

"You have my apologies for this casualty," Arya said respectfully. Right now, all she wanted to do was crawl up in to a ball—a cowardly instinct, yes, but she could not truly help it. "And for any others I may cause while I am in service here," she added in a rueful tone.

"It is not your fault," Deynor said, repeating his thought from before, though in different words.

As Arya raised her head to meet Deynor's gaze, she saw that the accusatory look was gone from his eyes, replaced with only sympathy and forgiveness. Though this should have caused major relief to sweep through Arya, it didn't. Instead, it caused her to feel rather… irritated.

She had done him a disservice. She had antagonized someone underneath his leadership, whether she had done it willingly or not. He should be furious with her.

But he wasn't.

He was too understanding—or at least too willing to understand. Where were the harsh words she saw were coming? Turning her eyes to Brom, she saw that the same level of sympathy existed in the man as well.

_Cannot at least one of them be infuriated with me? In some ways, that would make me feel better_, Arya thought to herself remorsefully.

"May I speak to Mia?" Arya suddenly asked, as the impact of wanting to make everything right suddenly hit her. She saw Deynor's eyes study her warily, and her stomach lurched when he shook his head.

"No, Arya. I think it is best if you leave Mia to herself for today, though I will assure you that I will allow you to speak to her soon," Deynor answered, his face now betraying no emotion.

_That's right, Arya. You have caused enough damage for today_, a voice sneered in her mind. With much dismay, Arya knew that that was the truth.

"Wait—what? What am I…?"

The sudden voice addition to the room caused Arya to look around wildly. Her eyes rested on the cot, and she saw, with a rush of gratitude and relief, that Faolin was awake. Hurrying over to where he lay, she pressed a cool hand to his brow. "You're alive, Faolin." And you're back with me, where you belong.

Arya was aware of those in the room watching her and Faolin now, but the fact that he was now awake seemed to make everything else melt behind in the distance. It was of no importance now; all she had to focus on was the expanse of Faolin's silvery gray eyes. In some ways, they were what kept her sane, and Arya began to wonder how she had ever managed to find the heart in her to send him away.

Though his presence itself was magical, it was the eyes that Arya had trouble forgetting. It was his eyes that kept her there. That kept her gripping on to reality.


	26. Whispers

**A/N;** Victory in my NaNoWriMo is nearing—I can sense it. O:

-isexcited-

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All for the rest of the day, Faolin continued to slip in and out of consciousness. On the inside, this frustrated Arya, though she did not let any sign of it show. Instead, she simply remained by the elf's side, staring out in the distance when he was not awake.

It was at this time Arya began to think about the many aspects of… well, her life.

It was a subject that had remained untouched for a while now, for anxieties of other issues had come before it all. Now, however, while she squandered the rest of the day stubbornly staying by Faolin's side—there was not much else for her to do. In truth, she had not originally started with this topic. Instead, she had thought about other, more lighthearted subjects, but eventually, she drove herself in to a corner, not knowing what else to contemplate on.

In the simplicity of a nutshell, Arya had uprooted her former, peaceful life in Du Weldenvarden in exchange for being able to uproot the somewhat tranquil surroundings of the Varden. She knew that she, for the most part, had no intention of doing so—but she had still accomplished feats like that, and no one would forgive her if she simply told them she did not mean it.

The next days passed slowly—almost unbearably so. Still, Arya gritted her teeth and coped with the events that passed her by. Due to the former events, Brom had postponed his promise of taking her to learn about the true political affairs in which the Varden conducted itself through.

Currently on a mini excursion through some of the halls of Tronjheim that Brom insisted she take, Arya was not particularly happy about leaving Faolin's side, though she did it once Brom guilt-tripped her more than once.

She attempted to voice her opinions on this little trip, but silenced them. It would do no good to complain—when Brom's mind was made up, Brom's mind was made up.

Loraes had been chosen as her guide, and once more, the boy was walking ahead of her, sneaking glances at her in order to see if she was still following him. She knew how uncomfortable he must be; yet Arya could do nothing to help.

"And this," he was saying, "is one of the many halls that leads to the dragon coop, and, of course, Isidar Mithrim."

Arya looked up and nodded, acknowledging the boy's information. She made sure to make a mental note to herself—this knowledge might mean the difference between life and death one day, should she be fleeing from an enemy.

This was apparently a very busy hall, as many people, human and dwarves alike, were passing through. Arya noticed this and hid her ears—the most probable sign of her being an elf—with her hair, but to her dismay, not everyone was fooled. She still had looks thrown in her direction, and as she was in the company of Loraes—a mere boy—words, vulgar and angry, were thrown in her direction. Though they were too quiet for Loraes to hear, Arya managed to pick them up, what with her enhanced ability to hear, like all elves.

"Every single man she deals with ends up hurt, or worse," a woman hissed to her neighbor as they passed through, looking at her through narrowed eyes. This hurt Arya considerably, but as more and more snide comments identical this one began to pile up, she developed a sense of ignoring most of it. She even managed to find some part of her that laughed—until a different assortment of comments began to join the latter ones.

"She will bring ruin to all of us." Not too terrible; Arya already thought this deep down in her mind.

"She is no different than her mother, who hides behind her own protectors." That one stung, as Arya had no intentions of carrying on her mother's personality traits in to her own life.

"Keep your man in check, Annabel, for if he catches sight of that vixen… it will be the end of him." Remarks similar to this were the worst for Arya, as she had no intentions of capturing anyone's heart—for lust or for love. It was the man's own fault if he chose to give in to whims; she had no control over any of it.

_Just say it to my face_, she thought cynically, resisting the urge to strike down everyone who spoke ill of her. _Cowards, all of you_.

Arya would have confronted each and every one of them, yet she felt as if she could not. It was not her place—it was not her place to keep them in check. She would not yell or reprimand them, nor would she complain to Brom or Deynor—she would deal with her problems on her own, and if this meant bearing all of these harsh words in silence… then she would do so.

"Hey Loraes! Gotcha a mighty pretty she-devil headed straight for damnation there, don't you?"

It took a while for Arya to comprehend that these words were said quite loudly so that anyone passing through the halls could hear. A large amount of laughter could be heard roaring at this statement, and Arya could see Loraes's flushing as he bit his lip. He threw her a glance over his shoulder very briefly, and she could see that tears were brimming.

It was one thing for someone to talk rudely about her—it was another for someone to talk to Loraes in such a manner. Clenching her fists, Arya threw her head up, and her eyes alighted on a man who appeared extremely pleased with himself. Seeing her looking at him, he winked at her as if the two of them were sharing some joke.

"Wait, Loraes," she hissed to the boy, and began making her way through the crowd toward the man.

"Lady, it's not worth it," Loraes mumbled feebly, but halted and stared after her as she made her way to the man, his eyes wide with fear.

"Sir," Arya addressed the man icily, standing at exactly five paces away from him. Around the two of them, everything had gotten deathly quiet.

"Lady," he responded in a mocking tone, a grin still plastered across his face, making it evident that he was still basking in the glory of having come up with his earlier statement.

"Sir," Arya repeated once more before continuing. "You may call me as many names as you wish—I do not mind. I do not quite know what you are attempting to achieve, but if it is for me to hate you… well, sir, you have already made that all too easy for me." She paused here, choosing her words carefully in case the man was had a quick wit and was good at finding loopholes in what she said. "But, while I can find the patience in others finding flaws in me, that is all I will abide by. If you so happen to wish to ridicule Loraes, who has done nothing wrong, again… then there will be a consequence, to say the very least."

With that, Arya winked at the man, all the while having a mental voice shouting in her mind to stop being so impudent and reckless. _You do not need any more enemies here than you already do!_, it hissed at her, and she knew that what it was saying was true.

But revenge was oh, so sweet.

Turning away—but not before pouting in the direction of the man in a playful expression—Arya made her way through the crowd that seemingly melted to the sides. Touching Loraes's shoulder lightly, she nodded in order to tell him to move on—which he was all too willing to do. He set off at a very brisk pace, and only slowed down when they were out of sight of everyone else.

"That was a foolish thing to do, lady," Loraes whispered hoarsely to Arya as he kept his eyes trained ahead of him so as to not look at her.

It was just the opinion of a youngster—yet Arya felt as if it bore a large amount of wisdom. She resisted the urge to hang her head, but she knew, deep down inside, that what she had done was not only even more damaging to her reputation—but it had also been immature, and something that she did not quite have to resort to. Loraes could take care of himself.

"But I admire what you did," Loraes suddenly added, looking over his shoulder and giving Arya a wide grin, a grin that Arya did not know the boy was capable of giving—to her, especially.

"Thank you, Loraes," Arya murmured hesitantly, feeling her heart warm at the sign of Loraes's beaming face. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome, lady," Loraes answered, ducking his head in embarrassment for what seemed like the millionth time to Arya. Still, it was an endearing action, and Arya knew that Loraes would not quite be the same without that habit.

Silence made itself present in the moments that followed, and a brief thought trailing through Arya's head made her realize that silence was now an even larger part of her life than it had been before. She received silence from her mother—which was most likely the worst of all. She also, however, received silence for when she did not speak—but she also received silence when she _did_ speak, as demonstrated by her recent confrontation of the man.

It was rather ironic, as instead of infuriating her, the silence seemed to work with Arya. Something inside her seemed to coexist peacefully with having close to no sound surrounding her, and Arya thought that if everyone could stop talking and doing whatever they had to do and just _listened_… well, it was possible that things might be different, and people could find it in their hearts to understand one another.

This was an odd theory, and Arya contemplated about it as she followed Loraes. Sooner or later, however, she found herself increasing her step slightly so that she drew up behind him, walking alongside him. She found this to be more pleasant, and she felt considerably better, as she was now not giving the appearance of someone who needed a guide. Now, walking _alongside_ someone, she truly felt confident.

Angling her glance down toward Loraes's face, her eyes picked out a scar marking his left cheek. Reaching without asking permission, her fingers lightly brushed along it. "You got this when you fell before," she stated simply, and Loraes nodded. She felt him stiffen at her touch, and immediately withdrew.

"I could heal it for you, you know," Arya offered, continuing to walk alongside the boy. She was surprised to see him shake his head.

"I don't know about you, lady, but as a boy, scars are rather… admired," Loraes responded, and while it did not show on his face, Arya could hear a note of pride in his voice. The boy reached up and touched the raised part of flesh, and though Arya winced at this sight, he simply looked rather pleased with himself. "And, of course, whenever someone decides to ask about the scar… I can say that I received it while underneath the service of the elf princess." He turned his face and flashed Arya a grin before looking down and suddenly becoming deeply interested in studying the ground.

Arya herself had to smile at the boy's words. _So eager, so innocent_, she thought to herself wistfully. In some ways, Loraes reminded her of a younger version of Faolin—and rightfully so. Both of their personalities matched, as they were both sensitive to other's feelings, yet there were times when they would show flashes of being someone that Arya could love—though, of course, it was different in Faolin's case. Faolin was her best friend and lover, and Loraes… well, Loraes was someone Arya knew she could depend upon.


	27. Miraculous

**A/N;** Huzzah, huzzah! I'm crossing the 50k mark for NaNoWriMo today.

8D -happydance-

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The days continued to pass, some unbearably slow, some in a hurried and flurry of frenzy. Through it all, Arya underwent an assortment of tests, some obvious, while others were subtler. Some, she knew for sure were tests, but others she was not quite sure about.

There were Deynor's questions and Brom's questions that she often faced at the end of the day. Deynor's inquiries were solely based on whether she had listened or not, while Brom's were more… deep. Probing. They caused her to think, and Arya often found herself frustrated as she tried to deliver a full answer.

Faolin healed at a rapid pace, and was soon able to join Arya in her studies of the political affairs the Varden was involved in. He proved himself worthy of the knowledge, as he could always answer Deynor's questions. It was Brom's questions, however, that proved a challenge for him—more so than Arya. Still, he took being bested by Arya in Brom's inquiries graciously—just as long as he could beat her in answering Deynor.

This often caused a small amount of competition between the two elves—but only competition of the good-natured type. Glenwing would occasionally join them, but only briefly, as he was always around the Varden, everywhere at once. It seemed that though he was an elf, Glenwing had managed to charm the inhabitants of the Varden—human and dwarf alike—and that he had gained a respectable amount of liking.

Arya had to admit: she was rather envious of Glenwing. Whenever he went along with their little learning group, people would always acknowledge Deynor with a bow of their head or something of the like—and then they would flash Glenwing a smile or something similar.

It was through these excursions that Arya recognized the signs of what people truly thought of Brom. Though he was the founder of the Varden, Brom was not very well liked—most likely due to his oddness. He didn't fit, which Arya felt was possibly one of the reasons why he had given the position of leader to Deynor—which was also the most probable reason why Brom did not seem envious of Deynor holding the position of leader. Secretly, Arya felt as if Brom actually had more power than Deynor—but in a more understated way.

When Arya attempted to enter Brom's mind—yes, without permission—she found that there were extremely strong barriers thrown up against not only her—but for anyone who attempted to come in. When she had withdrawn, Brom turned to her with a peculiar smile on his face. "You will find that I have had years of training to perfect that," he had said, and then turned away.

At the present moment, Arya was perched at the end of Faolin's bed. In her right hand, she loosely held a flower. The bloom was of a delicate balance, and Arya was careful to hold it exactly right so that it did not crumple over. Deep, velvety petals colored a soft gray slowly shifted in to a variety of greens and blues as it neared the edges. The center of the bloom was a pale golden color, a color that reminded Arya somewhat of sunshine—she herself had to smile at that inference.

Her eyes fixed at the door, she simply resigned herself to waiting for the elf to return to his quarters. Swinging her legs in a casual manner, Arya drummed her fingers lightly on the wooden bed frame—not in impatience, but for simple habit.

She was dressed in a white dress, which was accompanied by rich, crimson floral patterns snaking up the side. Though she was not a fan of dresses and whatnot, Arya did have to admit—there was a part of her that told her she didn't really mind it… too much. Even with that consent from that odd minded part of her, Arya still wore a pair of leggings the same color as the flowery pattern on her dress.

A smile alighted across her face as the doorknob turned. The elf entered the room, and Arya leapt off the bed. She took a few delicate steps in his direction, and she felt Faolin's eyes follow her as she then continued to twirl lightly. Suddenly, she whipped around behind him and pressed her lips lightly to his neck. She felt the chuckle rumble through his throat and in to the air.

Though quiet and thoughtful—and, of course, more solemn—around everyone else, Arya found it easier to act normal when it was just her and Faolin. It was as if the two of them were reliving the old times back when they were young and free and careless, and… well, the list went on and on.

Faolin turned and wrapped his arms around her waist, and Arya just barely managed to squeeze her right arm out in order to preserve the flower. Stepping away from his grasp for just a moment, she turned lightly and held out the flower for Faolin. "Flower, Faolin?" she asked, and then gave a slight trill of laugh resembling that of a delicate chiming of bells.

Arya's delight, however, was marred considerably by the look of apprehension that suddenly crossed Faolin's face as he looked at the flower. Furrowing her brow lightly, she withdrew from holding the flower out. "What's wrong?" she asked, a genuinely puzzled look on her face.

Faolin's gaze flickered to almost every possible area in the room before finally meeting her gaze again. "Is there any meaning behind that flower, Arya?" he asked, gray eyes meeting green eyes full on.

Arya blinked, taken aback at the question. "Of course. I… I made it for you." She was astonished that he would be asking her something like this when he should know the full answer to his inquiry already.

Faolin looked sad as she said this, and looked away from her. "Then, Arya Drottningu… I cannot accept it."

"Why?" Arya's voice was nothing but a whisper now as her expression darkened to even deeper confusion.

Faolin sighed, and sat on the bed, grabbing Arya's hand and leading her to sit next to him. She tilted her head in attempts to catch his gaze, though he kept on averting his eyes—and he was not quite subtle about it, either.

"Arya… when you told me to leave and return to Du Weldenvarden, it was as if you were rejecting my love as well," Faolin began slowly, pausing in between words as if pausing to think what he should say every few words. Arya opened her mouth to protest, but Faolin saw this and placed a gentle finger on her lips. "And, when I left, the only thing I could think about was… you. I kept on repeating your words over and over again through my head, and there was nothing else. I couldn't think, I couldn't sleep—I couldn't do anything right. It was this that also partially helped in aiding the near defeat of Silas and I against the Ra'zac."

_So Silas's death really was mostly my fault_, Arya thought to herself glumly, and she bit her lip.

"And I do not believe that I can go ahead and accept your words and the like again, Arya. I cannot, unless I know for sure you will not go and turn your back on me once more."

Arya looked at Faolin, and for once, she saw how sad and how heartfelt his words truly were. "Faolin, I…" she began, and then trailed off. "I… don't know how I can do that." Suddenly, the words came to Arya, and they began pouring out—and she could not stop the flow.

Taking a deep breath, she began. "I can pledge my love to you—I can pledge it in more ways than one. I can offer you words; I can offer you gestures and all of it… But there is no true way I can _make_ you understand… there is no way you can fully understand what I feel—unless you can get inside my mind."

Without warning, Arya closed her eyes and pressed in to Faolin's mind. She was surprised at the nonexistent reluctance in which he received her presence. No words were spoken between them, and Arya simply let down the barriers in her mind.

At this, emotions were let loose, and though Arya was afraid at first in doing so, she eventually eased up. Faolin, too, tensed at first, but then gradually relaxed, though he still appeared rather uneasy. He did not let his feelings go at first, simply going through and examining every single aspect of Arya's full emotions. He was the one who had lived with her through her whole entire life, and even he found and saw some surprising prospects in her mind that he could never have dreamed about.

Suddenly, Faolin let loose, and Arya was instantaneously filled with a large amount of emotions. The larger of the so consisted of passion, and Arya was not sure she could focus on anything else. When she delved deeper in to these thoughts of passion—directed at her, not very surprisingly—she felt amounts of tenderness and concern and a feeling as if he cared for her deeply. His thoughts were so clean, so lovely, so pure… Arya felt as if she were surveying the mind of an angel.

"I love you, Faolin," she murmured, as she was the first one to snap out of the trance-like situation. She swept her jade gaze over him momentarily before kissing his forehead lightly. With that, she stepped out of the room, shutting the door silently behind her.

He cared for _her_, he loved _her_, and the chances that he loved anyone but _her_ in that way… Arya could not imagine it like that. She felt dizzy as she walked down the hall in the direction of her room, her hands placed directly over her heart. It was cliché, yes, but to know that he was here for her in such a way…

It was miraculous.


	28. Inebriate

**A/N;** As you can obviously see, I took a bit of hiatus… A really long one. I really did need a break after typing for so much in a month. xP

Anyway! I'll still be updating, but probably not as quickly, as I'm swamped right now…

And, I must say… Hey Monday is a very pwnful band. 8D

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Minutes swiftly flowed in to hours, which then collected themselves to form days. Each day went by at its own pace, sometimes lethargically, sometimes swiftly. No matter what, however, Arya could always count upon the day to draw to a close, and for her to retire to her quarters where she could, for the most part, rest, with no distractions or interruptions.

Arya found, for the first time in a while, that she was content. Learning the affairs of the Varden, with the added bonus of having Faolin by her side—it was near a dream come true. She still continued to have thoughts on sending the male elf back to Du Weldenvarden in order to, yes, preserve his safety—but these thoughts were always banished when she saw his face, so perfectly shaped and chiseled.

Her relationship with him was tricky—yet playfully so, as it had always been a matter of the elves to not fully embrace a relationship so deeply as to think of marriage. Both were happy with the kisses stolen in the moment, as well as the embraces and soft, whispered words they shared. To most, it was obvious that Faolin was Arya's protector and lover.

Gazing in to his face—every shape and line lightly creased on to his fair skin, every light and dark contrasting gray hue filling the color of his eyes—everything about him was enchanting.

_He loves me; Faolin loves me._

Things were progressing slowly—but surely. Among these was Arya's knowledge of the Varden. Soon, she was able to find her way through the Varden and its maze of halls. Soon, she was able to answer questions from both Deynor and Brom. There were other things that were moving ahead at a slower pace, however…

It was mostly the acceptance of the Varden that trickled by ever so slowly—so slowly that sometimes it made even Arya, with her increasing amount of patience, want to scream. Arya had succeeded in winning the general amiableness of some of the members, yet the majority still remained stubborn. With time, however, it seemed like an unspoken truce generated itself, and the snide comments and rude gestures soon died down. Arya was grateful for this, but she did not revert back to her former carefree ways; to the contrary, she remained a stoic and impassive figure, always observing, but never saying much.

Glenwing remained ever popular with the Varden, as the elf's bubbly personality as well as his song won over anyone who felt the need to scorn him. It took a while, but Arya eventually managed to accept the fact that Glenwing would always be well favored amongst the Varden, and that there would be no use for her to be envious of him.

At the present moment, Arya was a quiet presence in a hall in which every single movement and sound made was echoed, due to the hall's absence of furniture with the exception of a couple of chairs. Her eyes were fixed upon Deynor as she watched him swiftly deal with the issues the people of the Varden presented him. He had a quick wit, and was able to resolve matters quickly. His patience could very nearly be described as never ending, though Arya witnessed him raising his tone once in a while in order to get his point across strictly.

Once Deynor's court dismissed, Arya felt compelled to wander around by herself. She was soon joined by Faolin, however, as the two of them were near inseparable after his return. Thoughts of telling him to go back to Du Weldenvarden continued to plague Arya, but she could not bring herself to do it. She knew it was indeed a selfish act to keep him with her when he could experience a safe and easy life back in the Elvin forest, but she did her best to ignore her conscious.

Out from the side, a dwarf stumbled in to view and hailed Arya and Faolin in a boisterous tone. Raising her eyebrows at this, Arya exchanged a quick glance with Faolin, and the two proceeded to briskly reach the dwarf.

It was Orik.

A very _drunk_ Orik.

"Orik… have you been drinking?" The inquiry came from Faolin, and it was stated in a voice that was indecisive between confusion and amusement.

"Why, of coursh not. Yesh I have, hee hee! What maksh you thinksh so, handshum, handshum Faolish? Hee hee, sounds like foulish… Or maybe foolish… Foulish, foolish Faolish!" While saying all of this, Orik stumbled back and forth, a sure sign that his mind was a bit… muddled.

Arya watched Orik, wondering if she dare laugh. Few things these days made her laugh, but she could feel the bubbling sensation within her as she observed Orik's drunken escapade.

Faolin sighed, though his eyes danced with merriment. "Dwarves enjoy their drink entirely too much." With that, he enjoyed a laugh at Orik's expense, though the dwarf was not aware of what was being said of him, and simply joined in with the laughter, adding a couple of snorts along with it.

A smile creased Arya's face as she allowed herself to be swept along with the giddy feeling of mirth for a while before returning back to a more solemn demeanor. "We should get Orik somewhere he cannot somehow reach the opportunity to hurt himself," she told Faolin. The elf agreed with a quick nod of his head.

Stooping down low, Faolin picked Orik up, with a large amount of protests from the dwarf. The sight in all its hilarity reached Arya, and once again, the sound of tinkling bells of laughter rang through the air momentarily. Closing the distance between them in a matter of a few delicate steps, Arya pecked Faolin lightly on the cheek, showing a slight display of affection as a follow-up to her delight. With that, she turned and began walking in the direction of Orik's quarters, which she had been shown on a map earlier in the week.

"Ah, young love," Orik said, drawing the syllables of words out. "I just lovesha young looooove."

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**A/N;** Bleh. Short chapter. Kind of a filler, if you want to say… Just decided to through Orik in again. I promise I'll eventually make a chapter where he's not drunk. :P


	29. Green and Gray

**A/N;** Hmmm. Geez, I've already kind of figured out how I'm going to end this story… Let's hope by the time I get there I don't forget it. ^^;

Ah, thank you to all my reviewers, and happy holidays to all! (:

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"Surely they _have_ to have separate names?"

"They are known as The Twins, Arya."

"But what exactly do you call just one of them? A Twin? The Twin? Twin the first and the second?" Though Arya had certainly changed in to a quieter person, it was apparent that she had not changed quite enough for her to ask just one question.

Brom chuckled and gave a shrug, but otherwise did not slacken his pace. "They are simply know as The Twins, Arya, and that is all. I suggest you do not inquire them about the matters of their name; you will understand eventually, or, in the case you do not manage to comprehend… you will learn to live with it."

This struck Arya as odd, but she resigned herself to falling in to step with Brom as he escorted her to finally meet the most powerful magicians that the Varden had. Still, she couldn't help but wonder—who were these magicians who bore the title of "twins"?

"I must warn you… The Twins are a flighty pair. Be careful what you say and do around them, for if you are unfortunate enough to do something that offends them… Well, they will take any of your actions in to account in order to try to cause some… problems for you."

Arya heeded this information and stored it in her mind, as she had learned over time that whatever Brom said—especially if it were an observation about people—was something important that she should remember.

"Greetings, Brom."

It came from the shadows of the hallway, and Arya was not quite sure where to look first. Extending her conscious out slowly, she was aware of two minds other than hers and Brom's. Whipping around, she heard the soft rustle of robes as two identical humans walked forward and made their presence known.

The flames from the torches stationed on the walls threw an assortment of shadows everywhere, causing an eerie effect on the faces of the Twins. Their beady eyes were unwelcoming, and they held themselves as if they were royalty—and perhaps they were, considering that many people feared magicians of any sort.

Arya watched as Brom exchanged guarded pleasantries with the Twins. She sensed that he was uneasy, but he did not let any sign of it creep in to his polite voice.

"And this is Arya Drottningu," Brom told the Twins, carefully using her title.

At the same moment, two sets of eyes belonging to the Twins flickered to her. The timed precision of this action made it appear as if they had planned it before hand—but no. Arya was now beginning to discover why exactly they were called the Twins. Not trusting herself to speak, she gave a simple nod in acknowledgement.

"Hello," the Twins said in unison, training their gaze straight on her until she wanted to shrink away from the sight of their eyes. One of them stepped forward, and looked her directly in the eye. "We trust that you are a magician, yes?" he asked.

Arya nodded. She threw a glance toward Brom, and saw that he appeared rather worried.

"Is it in order for us to test your abilities?"

At this point, Arya was exceedingly confused. Why would they, _human_ magicians, feel the need to test her—an elf? It was common knowledge amongst most that even the weakest elf could overpower the strongest human. Though she had to admit it was a conceited thought, Arya believed in this fully. It was this prospect that caused her to respond, "I do not see why you need to."

Her tone was haughty—even she had to acknowledge that fact. From the corner of her eye, she saw Brom throw her a look, one mixed with both apprehension and admiration for her defiance of the Twins.

The Twins cleared their throat at the same time. The one who had taken a step forward proceeded to step back and let the other Twin take his place. "It is in our—and the Varden's—best interest to see what we have to work with. If you do not submit to our testing, we shall not do anything to you—but there will be a sense of distrust. So, if we may now start with an easy task, lift that pebble over there."

The fact that the Twins were underestimating her to the point where they needed to see if she could lift a _pebble_ caused frustration within Arya, though she yielded. With a quiet murmur, she granted the pebble access to the air, and held it there, suspended. All the while, she studied the Twins closely, trying to glean some more information about them—but to no avail.

The Twins continued to set her with more tedious little tasks, and gradually they grew more difficult—yet she still failed to break in to a sweat. Instead, she became more and more annoyed, though she was careful to wrap it behind the mask of her calm, pleasant demeanor of the outside.

"Summon the essence of silver."

This request caught Arya off guard. She stared at the Twins as if they had lost their minds—and indeed, she thought that they did. In truth, part of her had to admit that she was relatively flattered—yet she was still surprised. A little ways off, she heard Brom suck in a large breath of air in shock.

Deciding to put off the task for a little while longer, Arya asked the Twins, "May I ask, can you two summon the essence of silver?" She attempted to make her inquiry in a sweet voice in order to coax the answer from them. _Such a coquette, Arya. Stop it_, she reprimanded herself mentally.

The Twins regarded her with an unchanging expression. "We asked if _you_ can summon it, elf," one of them said. Through the blunt and sharp way he addressed her as well as how they deflected her question, Arya deduced that no, the Twins could not accomplish the feat. Somehow, this gave her a sense of security—the Twins weren't _all_ powerful.

_Stop it!_ A voice in her mind said. _Stop! _You_ aren't particularly talented at summoning essences either._

It was true. Arya still struggled with summoning essences—especially that of silver. It drained her strength too quickly, often leaving her unconscious or unable to lift even a finger. She was not about to let the Twins win, however, and she began to form the words in her mind. She opened her mouth to speak them—

"Stop!"

Her head shot up and she looked around her wildly. From further down the hall, she saw a figure running in her direction. When she saw whom it was, her heart warmed instantly.

_Faolin_.

"What are you doing?" the male elf roared, and Arya had to wince, as she was not quite sure whether all of his anger was directed at her or the Twins. Brom shifted awkwardly away from the small group, as it was obvious he did not particularly wish to face an angry elf should Faolin's frustrations stray.

"Summoning the essence of silver," Arya responded simply, as if it were obvious.

Faolin sent a glare all around. "You know how dangerous that is!" he snapped, his gray eyes flashing with anger and protectiveness.

"I wouldn't have _died_, Faolin!" Arya retorted, narrowing her eyes. "I'm not a weak little girl anymore!"

At this point, both the Twins as well as Brom began moving back, as _two_ angry elves were even worse than just one.

Arya was surprised at how Faolin's anger was being directed; normally he was a laid-back type of character. The two halted their words, and continued to simply glare at each other, fighting with their eyes, green and gray. Suddenly, Faolin broke away and stormed down the hall with neither a word nor a glance back.

Something was plainly not right—normally Faolin would have never acted that way. He would have preferred to solve things peacefully—so why was he so uptight?

Arya furrowed her brow in thought as she watched Faolin's retreating figure.

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**A/N; **-snooze-

Boring, boring, boring.

Dx

Ugh. I'm failing miserablyyy.


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